Christmas

We got up at eight this morning; Felicity had been pretty compliant in the night and allowed us to get some sleep before her six-month-a-versary. My wife had decided to make some cinnamon rolls for breakfast, but due to an unfortunately complicated recipe, we’d failed to prepare the yeast properly last night and the dough hadn’t risen before we’d gone to bed. However, an extra eight hours had it about right, and another two hours of baking finally delivered breakfast to us.

In the meantime, we opened our presents. Although I had a bumper trawl of stuff, I was a little disappointed that Felicity hadn’t bothered to buy either of us anything. Given that she doesn’t have a full time job to take up her day, she could have spent a bit of effort thinking about things for her parents. I don’t want anything extravagant from her: just a book, or a t-shirt, or a few bottles of beer would be some sign that she appreciates the effort we put in for her. But no, not even a card. Ho hum.

I did get:

Two novels
Magnetic Spanish words, to teach el refrigerifico hablar espanol
A can of deodorant
A mug with a moustache on it
A portable pint glass
Some aftershave
Lots of chocolate and nuts
Some socks
A very heavy pleather penguin, for use as a door stop, bookend or weapon.

So some traditional Christmas gifts there, and some surprises.

Felicity got a lot of dresses and lots and lots of toys. She didn’t get any deodorant, which I can only conclude means my wife thinks only I stink. Which is probably quite correct.

Felicity is now capable of opening presents, or at least at tearing at wrapping paper. She discovered a new joy in putting things in her mouth, like wrapping paper and sticky tape and Christmas cards, each of which threw me into a fresh panic. Best was when she chowed on a Christmas card and managed to stain her face with green dye. Being confronted by a green-faced, black-tongued child is an experience I do not wish to repeat.

We went out at twelve for a walk, heading over to Kent Ridge Park, where we haven’t been for a year. Last time we went there we walked up the hill to the top of the ridge; older and wiser, we took a taxi there instead, which meant that our walk was much shorter than we’d expected, but neither of us was ready to collapse from heatstroke.

We had to rush back, because I wanted to finish rereading Altered Carbon, a sci-fi noir novel from twelve years ago.

Sorry, because we had a lunch booking back at Limehouse.

We got back, freshened up (luckily I had some new deodorant) then headed back out, and then I had probably my booziest ever Christmas lunch – probably five enormous rum cocktails wasn’t quite the wisest choice. (I did eat as well, to the point of bursting, before staggering queasily home to pass out. Today was quite momentous for us, because as well as me getting drunk on punch, Felicity had her first proper food – mashed up sweet potato – and swallowed it, rather than spraying it back over us. Which was very polite of her.

An hour later, I awoke to bid family happy Christmas via Skype. Felicity remained a model child throughout, until we tried to get her to sleep, when, as usual, she got uppity. And so to bed.

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