My Mum rang at the end of last week to see if MY advent calender had arrived (that’s what I heard anyway).
Family tradition was always that my Gran would buy one for me and my siblings to share and we got to open one every third day. Since she died, Mum has stepped in and goes all out to get one for each of us.
I’ve had a wonderful girly weekend away (it’s lunch time and I have had NO Bucks Fizz today – unacceptable) so when I phoned Husband on Sunday to arrange meeting up for Christmas shopping, I asked if MY advent calender has arrived?
“The one’s arrived from your Mum for Whirling Dervish.”
“It’s not for Whirling Dervish, it’s for me!”
I couldn’t help it, it snapped out of my mouth before I could think.
A slight pause from Husband who then explained the envelope was addressed to all three of us, so we can continue a family tradition of sharing a calendar (so long as I get to open it on my birthday and on Christmas Eve).
I’m still a bit ashamed of myself though.
I think because I don’t see myself as a parent to Whirling Dervish, somehow, in that moment, I’ve become her big sister in my head and, as the eldest of three already, I’ve just tried to ‘pull rank’ over her.
Just WHO is the child here?
(This is a really lovely picture, but I have to say, sequential advent calendars are WRONG and go against the Laws of Christmas. Looking for today’s number is all part of the fun!)