We have this little ritual in our house. Every morning, just before I leave for preschool, there is a knock at the door and, without fail, it is the postman standing there. Him and Mummy have this little chinwag while he passes all these parcels to her. She gets SO many. Some days she blames them on the neighbours, as they are out, saying she is being neighbourly by looking after theirs. Most days she says they are boring work things, marketing flyers, or metal orders for her jewellery making. It is all a great big lie as I am certain she is ordering herself loads of pretty things and do you know what, Dear Reader? I get nothing. Not a single card, envelope, package, NOTHING. A few months ago, I kicked up a fuss about this, kicking and screaming, you know, the usual sort of thing to get a reaction. It worked, but not in the way I had hoped, now she just passes me the crappy leaflets she used to put in the recycling bin. She does her high-pitched voice and exclaims, ‘look Darling this one is for you!’ Balls, yeah, like I ordered a leaflet on Farm Fresh Foods and Chimney Sweeps.
This week however, something happened. The door knock came, as normal, with Mummy trying to act vague ‘oh I haven’t ordered anything’ and the postman is standing there with two enormous white envelopes. I think Mummy got all excited, as she does, but then HA! One of them had MY NAME ON IT!!!! The other wasn’t for her either! That was for my sister! She pretended to be excited for me, but I could see the overwhelming disappointment engulfing her. Welcome to my world Mum. I took my time opening it. I mean, I really took my time. I wanted to savour every second of getting my own parcel. I peeled the tape bit by bit while Mummy huffed and puffed complaining that we were going to be late for preschool. At last, the beautiful thing emerged, with a handwritten note from Grandma. Thank you, Grandma, I knew I could count on you to relieve me from my parcel-less life of misery.
What was inside I hear you ask? Reader it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. A giant snowman covered in glitter, sparkles EVERYWHERE. He popped up too, making this fat little shape to sit unaided on the shelf. He was covered in numbers and behind each number was a little door. Mummy explained it was an Advent calendar and on each day of Advent I can open a window. She asked if I remembered from last year, does she expect me to remember everything in life? Well of course I wanted to sit and play with it all afternoon, but Mummy rushed me off to preschool and I had to wait all afternoon to play with it again.
I played with Mr Snowman later, when Mummy was making tea. Now, don’t blame me, I couldn’t really remember what Mummy had said about the little doors, what did I say earlier, she tries to get me to remember EVERYTHING. Didn’t she say I had to open a few today? Well, that’s what I’m saying I heard. So, I opened one, there was the cutest fat robin behind it, so I opened another, and then another. By the time Mummy served supper most were open. I would like to say that is her fault for taking so long to bring me food when I am hungry. She knows I have no control over my body when I’m hungry. Well, she got all cross then, telling me I need to listen and what would Grandma say if she knew I had opened them all blah blah blah. She is such a spoil sport. She taped up all the doors then and told me I need to wait until Advent. WHEN IS ADVENT???? No one mentioned Advent, it was Halloween, then Bonfire Night, then Christmas… is Advent after Christmas?? And why only one window a day?
Mummy put Mr Snowman on the top shelf, the shelf where all the things I like go. She shook her head and asked me, ‘if you are this bad with the picture ones, what would you be like with the chocolate ones?’ STOP THE PRESS. Chocolate Advent calendars? Grandma???