Thursday 13 December 2012

It'll be coal in Rachel's stocking


If Santa was taking notes this last week, Rachel would definitely be on the Naughty List. She and her cousin Sarah, had been playing quietly (often not a good sign) in the bedroom upstairs while I was getting dinner. Emilia discovered her crimes later when everyone had gone.  I was clearing up downstairs when I heard a yell of anguish from Emilia, which I took to mean the little girls had messed up the bedroom they share.

“I’ll help tidy it all up, don’t worry” I called.
“No” wailed Emilia “it is worse than that – it is an emergency!”

Emilia can be a little over dramatic at times so I didn’t rush to her aid. When I reached their room I was greeted with an overpowering smell of sickly sweet, fruit flavoured lip balm, but as I surveyed the scene, it didn’t look too bad. Emilia play make up was all out (I am sure I had put that somewhere out of reach but clearly not,) and there were six or so lip balm sticks and assorted colour lids strewn across the floor. I followed my nose to where the strawberry, raspberry, kiwi, pineapple scent was the strongest. On the bed was an elasticated, material, belt which appeared to have been coloured in using the many coloured, scented, greasy, sticks of lip balm. This was annoying, but not irreparable.

“And look!” announces Emilia holding up a coverless, vaguely familiar plastic tray of empty shapes.
“Look what she has done to my advent calendar!” she cries, hysteria setting in now, “she’s destroyed it and eaten ALL the chocolates.”

It is true, there is not a crumb, not a single trace of them, all 24 chocolates devoured.

Rachel’s own advent calendar sits there untouched, totally intact apart from one lone window she had opened earlier in the day.

I can’t help it, I am amused, I suppress a smile and go into cross mode. 
Rachel knows she has done wrong before I said a word, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she says on repeat while I tell her off.
“This is very wrong” I tell her sternly, she looks a little forlorn, and says to me, as if this is some kind of excuse;

“But I like chocolate.”

She has only a few weeks left to redeem herself, she better start trying to be nice.