Family Christmas or Something Beginning with Y

My family Christmas is usually a reasonably large affair because the eight children my parents created went forth and multiplied the way all good Catholics should. And it turns out that we’re quite the example of a mathematical equation because the sum of the original multiplication went forth and multiplied, too, demonstrating all sorts of things which we won’t go into right now. Suffice to say that you put the family together and we turn into a bunch of walking, talking Cuisenaire rods.

This means we have had to be sensible about presents. Either that or we will finish up in debtors prison. Each year we take a letter (working with the ones which comprise the family name) and each person buys one present starting with that letter. All the presents get loaded under the tree at the celebration venue and when we’ve tortured the children for long enough with comments that weren’t even funny the first time they were said (like: “Oh, we’ve decided not to hand out the presents this year. We thought we’d give them all to the missions … ha, ha, ha, ha”), we gather around the tree.

Things proceed quickly and loudly from this point. Out comes the video camera. A “Santa” is nominated. We shout a lot because we’re noisy and we order each other around. As gifts are dished out chronologically by age of recipient we oooh and we aaaah over the cleverness of collectively being able to come up with a fine array of unique goods all beginning with an obscure letter (yes, it’s hell when your family name is Zqjzqj).

Unique that is, apart from the year when the letter was G and nearly everyone went home with a gnome, proving it’s not only the great minds that think alike.

Appropriately for Christmas, this year we have a virgin venue. A family branch has gone all chicken-coop-and-gumboots and taken themselves off to live in the country. There’ll be no dashing up to the corner dairy for the forgotten pint of cream this Christmas so, in the absence of a house cow, we’ll have to be supremely well organised. Organisation hasn’t really occurred since Mother was alive, and even she consistently managed to leave some vital part of the lunch menu in the oven warming drawer or at the back of the fridge. Usually it was a bizarre dish of ham and asparagus in a thick sauce. I’m not even going to try to describe it because no written version of the recipe has ever been uncovered and that is a GOOD thing.

We’re going for the letter Y this year. All Y gift ideas will be gratefully received.

Yoghurt-maker

Yoyo

20 great Yodelling hits CD

Yashmak

Yacht (just a toy one, probably)

Yoga mat

Yellow …