Sussex columnist: Getting to grips with new year after the excesses of Christmas

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​I was going to start this column by saying I was feeling confused and full of cheese post-Christmas.

​But a quick look back at the first column of 2023 reveals that’s exactly what I wrote then.

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I guess that’s the thing about this season, it’s dictated by traditions so every year does tend to look the same.

The preparation throughout December was standard, and saw me dealing with a naughty elf, fervently wrapping gifts night after night as if my life depended on it and dashing here, there and everywhere to pick up the ‘must-have’ present my son casually mentioned at the 11th hour.

Yes, that is a glass of wine my daughter made for me using her Hama beads. Doh!Yes, that is a glass of wine my daughter made for me using her Hama beads. Doh!
Yes, that is a glass of wine my daughter made for me using her Hama beads. Doh!
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And, as is the same every year, we over-bought treats, meaning we’re very much still consuming our cheese and chocolate mountain in January. And unless we want a fridge full of gin, tonic, Prosecco and beer haunting us for weeks to come, this month will most definitely not be dry.

Also the same is that my January waistline looks a lot splodgier than December’s. But is that really a great surprise given December traditions dictate drinking most days, M&S dark chocolate biscuits for breakfast, chocolates being consumed simply because I walked from the lounge to the kitchen and an entire Christmas pudding with brandy sauce and two wheels of camembert with accompanying bread ALL TO MYSELF?!

I pretty much hate food now, but can I stop eating it..? January is going to be an epic test of will, trying to de-stretch my stomach and remind myself that it is ok to feel pangs of hunger occasionally. Oh, and that the human body doesn’t need 7,500 calories a day to survive.

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Where I did think I was doing okay this year was with my parenting skills. The kids each got about 45 presents that required parental input, and we got around to opening/doing about 80 per cent of them.

I’ve played Battleships, pool on my son’s new table, an epic game of Squishmallows Monopoly, done puzzles, dealt with slime, kinetic sand and several presents that involve ‘blind bags’ and digging for gold/surprises/tiny pets.

I’ve tied plastic threads for copious clay bead bracelets, cleared up hundreds of tiny gems from diamond painting kits, overseen the painting of windchimes and made a large Lego Minecraft bakery.

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We have Aquabeads creations coming out of our ears, and my iron has never been used as much as since the new Hama beads kit was opened.

But this is where the belief I had become the perfect Christmas mum went south.

I thought by being present, living in the moment, playing games and just generally fulfilling the wholesome Christmas dream I was winning at being a mum. I was getting ready to enter the new year with just a smidge of that ever-present mum guilt assuaged.

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The mistake was taking half an hour to go for a run (just thought I’d drop in there that I still went running every other day over Christmas – which makes the weight gain even more concerning!).

I left my daughter at home happily placing little plastic Hama beads on to a template ready for me to iron and stick into place when I got back (don’t worry, she’s not Kevin McCallister – Home Alone she was not as my husband was there the whole time).

When I returned, she excitedly proffered her design for me to see: “I made something you love, Mummy.” “And what was that design?” I hear you ask. A lovely, festive Christmas scene or maybe a cute animal? No, no it wasn’t either of those things. For it was, in fact, a glass of wine.

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Yes, that’s right, she created a receptacle of alcohol for me. Despite my best attempts to be a shining example of parenting. To be an earth-mum who nurtures and guides her children’s interests and abilities, and gives her time freely to make Christmas full of fun and games for them. What she apparently took from Christmas is that mummy loves wine.

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I mean, she is right, but I might have to hold fire on giving any holistic parenting advice for now.

So, here I am in 2024. A little older, clearly not that much wiser, but ready to get stuck into the new year with as much vigour as when I open a new ​​bottle of pinot noir (apparently!).

Happy new year, everyone. Here’s to more parenting madness, family fun and general madcap adventures. I wouldn’t have it any other way. Cheers!

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