AUTHOR: Francesca Gray TITLE: Eight sleeps to go.... DATE: 2:33 PM ----- BODY:

and then it will be all over bar the shouting. That is the thought that keeps me going. Christmas only seems to last for ever. it does come to an end, eventually. The tree is decorated, colour fading, changing then bursting into life once more to some secret rhythm of its own. Presents, shiny with wrapping paper, are scattered beneath, waiting for December 25th to dawn. Although the only way anyone in this household will be awake in the early hours is if they have not yet found their way to bed from the night before! That is one of the differences between a house full of teenagers and a house full of children. With Teenagers Christmas day is another excuse to lie in. I have cleaned and polished and dusted and scrubbed. Struggled home with bags of shopping, filled the freezer and made endless lists. For the first time ever I am ahead of the game. No need to bake pies or cakes or puddings. No one likes them except me and no visitors other than my ex husband and his mother are expected. No need to leave a glass of something warming, a mince pie and a carrot for Santa Clause and Rudolph. There is no one to anxiously listen for their arrival. This is a grown up Christmas. Still there is plenty that needs to be re-done. As I sit here typing, dishes lie piled up in the sink. The bin over flows with rubbish, the lounge needs to be tidied, hoovered, restored to itself once more. I did ask if the teenagers would do something, anything, to help while I was out. How come I was not surprised to discover on my return at 1.30pm that they were still in bed? My son has a job now (today is his day off), which apparently negates any responsibility towards household duties. I asked him once again, a little while ago, to take out the rubbish, empty the bins. A request that was met with silence and a door closed to shut me out. My daughter? She has gone off to an interview that she had forgotten to tell me about. She does help out sometimes. They both do, sometimes. But some how it feels like in the end, it all comes down to me. I did complain that I appeared to be the only one doing anything towards making Christmas a good time for all of us. The reply? That I do it because I want to. Because I love doing it. That gave me pause for thought. Is everything my responsibility because I want to do it? Sitting here thinking I find myself asking if there is any truth in that? And the answer is no. Not any more. I come home from college exhausted. Ill health has meant that I am behind in some of my work so I have plenty to keep me occupied in my 'free time'. My back hurts constantly, made worse by carrying and hoovering and standing. I do all these 'family' things because it is expected of me. Or should that be 'I expect it of me?' What would happen if I did not buy presents, dress Christmas trees, do all that extra shopping? Would the world come to an end if Christmas were not to happen in this household? I do not like Christmas. Or birthdays come to that. No, that is not right, I love the illusion of such celebrations. The illusion of special days of happiness and closeness and wonderful surprises. Sadly, that is all that they are. Illusions. And illusions leave disappointment behind when they evaporate. Roll on January 1st.

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