I often find myself disheartened at Christmas. I’m not sure if it’s the lack of magic; the illusion of Santa Clause that used to flood my childhood home, not knowing if you’ll be able to catch a glimpse of him on Christmas Eve, as he flies over rooftops and delivers toys to all the children. It may even be the fact that as I’ve gotten older, adulthood has drained all excitement and happiness from such a joyous day.  

Childhood is such a wonderful time, when your only worries were breaking toys, not breaking hearts. Where the most pain you felt was scraping your knees, and when dad’s shoulders seemed like the highest you could ever go. I feel like as we get older, a lot of the magic and festivity that comes with Christmas, just disappears. 

As much as I love Christmas now, I still have these thoughts a lot. Is it an adult thing? Or is it just something I feel? I wanted to write a post about Christmas Day as a child, to remember fond memories of when I was younger and to remind myself of those joyous times. I thought I’d share them with you.

The Spy Kit

I vividly remember spending a whole day sitting in front of the Christmas tree. I couldn't have been older than eight years old, because I definitely believed in Santa. I couldn't contain my excitement at the thought of all those presents being under the tree. What is there? I remember asking Santa for a lot that year; Harry Potter books, colouring books and pens, and cool gadgets that no one else had. There's a picture somewhere that my mum had taken that Christmas, and you can clearly see me sat in front of the tree. I must have been upset because to me Christmas was over. Anyway, the point of this story, was to talk about the super cool spy kit. My favourite present that year was a briefcase, containing black glasses, a torch, a notepad, ID card, and an 'invisible ink' pen! Eight year old me was over the moon. I was obsessed with all things Men in Black; the spy life was cool and I wanted to be the next 007 for all I cared! There's another picture somewhere of me in all the gear, sunglasses, notepad and pen in hand, writing copious notes in secret! It a stored memory, not so much a special story - but more of a happy time in my life, no matter the size or content.

The Magic Caramel Barrel

Remember back in the day when your Christmas chocolates always came in a metal tin? I do! Our family favourites were always Roses, and my favourite was always anything caramel. One year, we were sat in the living room watching something on tele, and me being a kid - was throwing random sweets in the air and catching them. My dad came along and sat behind me. I continued to throw the same Caramel Barrel in the air and catching it, throwing and catching, up and down. I threw the chocolate in the air, and as it fell back into my hand, another fell with it. My child brain could not process what had happened. This was pure magic. How on earth did I throw one up in the air, and have two fall back down. I look back now and realise it was my dad who threw the extra barrel in, but it must have made his day to see my little, innocent face wonder in amazement at the 'magical' moment.