Dolly's blog: The twelve days of Christmas

I did it!  I threw away my White Company catalogue and allowed the children to decorate the Christmas tree.  

I have also reminded myself that, whilst I must never again emergency-purchase a Bernard Matthews turkey roll, a perfect Christmas does not require me to follow a celebrity chef brining recipe involving 18 spices, many so obscure that they've never been seen beyond Zone 2 and certainly not in Thanet.  Nor will I repeat the year when, whilst Mr D snoozed in bed, I stayed up beyond midnight preparing homemade cinnamon buns I had unilaterally decided were now a non-negotiable family tradition.  

Enough of such madness.  I have entered a higher plane of inner peace. 

On a less positive note, I have yet to buy a single Christmas present - although I'm quite enjoying the looks of horror when I casually mention this to more organised friends. 

Even worse, this year was our last nativity, save for the exceedingly distant prospect of grandchildren or a surprise visit from the stork (don't worry Mr D - I'm not hinting).  

Our youngest was the narrator this time and, resplendent in his polar bear jumper and a comically large bow-tie, acquitted himself admirably. Although clearly I'm biased.  

It was certainly more memorable than last year, when my mother travelled 300 miles to hear him say "We bring gold". 

"Was that it?" she enquired curtly, one eyebrow raised.  

"But doesn't he look good in his crown!" was all I could offer. Everyone glossed over the fact that, having had a rather late night, he was visibly nodding off mid-way through the performance.   

As I look back over 9 other nativities I feel like we've had a good run.  The school hall is colder than the playground, and watching people view the entire proceedings through their iPads makes me feel baffled and sometimes mildly violent.  But listening to small children in ridiculous costumes sing out of tune never fails to warm the cockles of my heart. Ahh, the memories...

There was the year when number one son was second sheep on the left.  No lines but both grandmothers were adamant that he was definitely the best sheep.   

Ever the precocious one it's my daughter who always got the biggest parts.   She gave an alarmingly convincing portrayal of the inn keeper's wife, whose entire dramatic purpose was to nag the long-suffering inn keeper.  More raised eyebrows from my mother.  

Then, wonder of wonders, there was the year she got the call to play Mary.  I played it cool but inwardly rejoiced, which I completely accept is utterly tragic.  Maybe it's because I was always second sheep on the left.  More therapy clearly required.  

Happy Christmas everyone.  

 After 19 years of fee earning, Dolly now works in a management role in a London law firm.  Working four days a week she has three children aged 5 to 9, a wonderful (though often absent) husband and a charismatic dog who keeps her sane.