Ahhh Christmas. Sober. I’ve done it.
If you’ve read the start of my blog, you’ll know I also made it through last Christmas sober, however I am a tiny bit further down the path this time, and it was a lot easier. Christmas Eve was possibly the best ever.. well, right up until about 10pm…
I shall set the scene. We’d watched The Snowman & The Snowdog, all snuggled up on the sofas with the Redlets, the woodburner crackling merrily, lights twinkling, and I felt just so bloody lucky to be exactly where I was, and so grateful for it too. We got the little ones settled into bed, and, for the first time in our lives, we both watched It’s A Wonderful Life. Mr Red was even drinking AF beer, in a show of solidarity with me. As the credits rolled, and I wiped a happy tear from my cheek, we suddenly became aware of a strange coughing and banshee-esque wailing coming from upstairs..
I apologise in advance if you’re polishing off your festive left-overs whilst reading this, but I’m about to get a little graphic. We raced upstairs to discover our daughter re-enacting what appeared to be a scene from The Exorcist. It was everywhere. Meanwhile, as we flapped about like headless chickens, from the next room I could hear No. 1 Son starting to wail about feeling sick. We’d just managed to clean up the girlie, when I had to perform a mad-dash rescue of him from his top bunk, whilst roaring “puke on the rug – yes it’s ok – on the rug not on the wool carpet!!!”. We’d managed to then clean him up, corralled them both into our bed with buckets, when Mr Red raced off and started driving the porcelain bus. Oh yes, all three of them were at it, repeatedly, and for quite a sustained period of time. It was like a scene from the Crimean War, with me as a rather less than saintly Florence Nightingale, running around emptying buckets, swearing under my breath and performing exorcisms on the aforementioned rug.
So – as you can probably gather, it’s been a subdued, less than magical experience. The hurling has finally abated, and Christmas did eventually happen (a very frazzled Mother Christmas did her deliveries at about 2.30am, smelling strongly and, dare I say, festively of pine disinfectant).
This is all less than ideal, obviously. Not what I’ve had pictured in my mind for the last month. But – hooray – I was sober. And (fairly) fresh, with my wits about me, and able to look after my poor, ill family with a clear head and in a reasonably cheerful fashion. And I was able to enjoy the good parts of the last few days too, without the spirit-crushing hangover. This would not have been the case if I’d been Old Drinking Red. Oh noooo.
I do hope you’ve all had a much less vomitty festive season than we have here. I’m on Day 45, and I’m looking forward to the New Years Eve celebrations with a glittery, alcohol-free glass in my hand! And no puke. Please thankyou.