There is wonder in every new decoration that comes out of the box all week long. That broken nutcracker soldier a jewel in the hands of a four year old. They see this Christmas with eyes un tired and with eager souls. Through their enthusiasm and vision, we see it too. We hold baby Jesus from the crib, my grandmother used to say it. Baby Jesus does not go in the crib until Christmas morning and they’re delighted to learn it too. And while the Baby Jesus finds sanctuary into the ‘everything’ drawer, it is obvious to us all it’s a waiting game.

The days are flying in and the cows are being dried off. They stop milking in other words for the month of January giving both them and their farmer a break in January before the calving season begins. This is a busy week. I’m busy indoors getting the house ready, himself is busy out getting the ‘yard’ right so that the Christmas season comes and goes with him not having to do too much work outside of the daily chores at Christmas. It always surprises people (or at least this city girl) that farmers have to work on Christmas day. But. But. But. Yes, yards don’t clean themselves, silage needs putting in front of the cows this time of year, the cows continue to need his care. Milk doesn’t pour itself into milk cartons automatically. But. But. But. It’s ok. It’s our way of life. And actually, funnily, he loves it. While I’m chopping carrots and parsnips on Christmas morning with a glass of something sparkly, and the children are busy playing (if Santa comes mind you), our farmer will walk into the fresh air on Christmas morning to feed the ‘girls.’

Did I ever see myself sitting here typing while my children unpacked Christmas decorations telling you about the Christmas routine of a farmyard? No. And yet, I hear my country grandmother telling me to hold off putting Baby Jesus in the crib. Hold off for the good stuff and see your life through fresh, un-tired eyes.

Six more sleeps…