How do you deal with Christmas once the kids have all grown up?
I know you’re not an agony aunt and problem resolution isn’t your thing, but I thought I’d write to you because you must be sick of your husband getting all the mail at this time of year.
You see, I
have a festive family tale of woe. The season of merriment has caused a
generational identity crisis at Chez Low and our family is caught in the
grip of a role reversal that is, quite frankly, ripping my tinsel.
It
all started on Friday night. I was heading to a Christmas basketball
tournament with my teenagers and I donned a new T-shirt I’d bought for
the occasion.
As soon as they spotted my outfit, my two strapping 6ft 2in boys eyed me with pure fear.
“How do we stop her?” one said to the other, his voice tight with
horror. “Barricade the doors,” came the reply. Meanwhile, I looked down
at my sparkly top, adorned with a Christmas present and the words,
“GANGSTA WRAPPER” and didn’t see the problem at all.
Did I complain when six-year-old Low the Elder insisted on going everywhere dressed as an elf? No.
Did I object to the penguin onesie era of 2013? I don’t believe I did.
Nor did I bat an eyelid when we were joined at the Yuletide dinner table of 2008 by SpongeBob Squarepants and a camel.
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