This Christmas is one for the history books and boy, am I going to hear about it FOR-EVER.
It all started out so wonderful. On the morning before Christmas, my two rugrats and I headed to the grocery store at 8am. Thanks to my perfect shopping list, allowing for the most efficient Christmas dinner shopping run ever (yes, I did order the items in the exact order of the aisles and yes, I’ll owe up to suffering a mild form of OCD) and making it back to the car at 8.34. At this point I’m pretty much patting myself on the shoulder and making Carlton-like dance moves in my car.
What follows is a couple of hours of the perfect mix of entertaining a three year old and a seven month old, keeping them fed and happy, all whilst wipping up a delicious Christmas meal. Nothing gets burned, no fingers are cut, no children nor animals get hurt and there is plenty of singing and dancing with kitchen utensils. So far, so good.
It all goes to hell when we decide to go out to get the Christmas cake. When we are finally ready to head out, our three year old announces she still has to make a run to the bathroom. We all head back in, and by the time we get back to the car on the driveway I find my bag gone. My bag. My wallet. My keys of the house, of the car, of everything. Sheer panic. Did someone really have the nerve to steal my bag from the car on our driveway in broad daylight? In Ypres? Seriously? I was gone for five maybe ten minutes… The thought that someone was observing my every move was just unbearable.
Needless to say it was all downhill from there. Indeed, I cannot recommend spending Christmas eve at the police station, changing locks, blocking your credit cards and wondering whether someone is going to come back at night to steal your car. In fact, I would strongly advise against it. We never even made it to the main course.
After a night of tossing and turning, I was woken up on Christmas day by a hungry baby at 5am. After feeding him, I decide to start cleaning the house – imagine the state I am in! – ONLY TO FIND MY BAG SITTING IN A BOX OF DUPLO. HOLDING MY KEYS, MY WALLET, EVERYTHING. How it ended up in there, will forever remain a mystery (I have my bets on the three year old).
Nothing short of a true Christmas Miracle. Needless to say, celebratory drinks were abundant. And this story will haunt me for holiday seasons to come. But Hallelujah, praise the Lord, I got my bag! Merry Christmas everyone!