No words that I say
Could ever explain
In any way,
How huge-
How enormous-
How much my love is for you.
That beautiful first day
In May
When we met…
I will never forget
When you looked at me
With dark blue eyes
And cried.
Your clothes are so small
When I look at them now.
How can this be?
When your life was such
A huge part of me.
Your heart was broken,
And so is mine.
I will see you again.
Soon,
My baby boy.
After what is probably my second- worst year; after 2019 when my baby son died; it would be easy to focus on the negatives of the past year.
1) I was diagnosed with terminal secondary breast cancer in my spine.
2) Mike is still extremely disabled by long covid; barely able to take more than a few shaky steps most days; and is showing no signs of improvement.
Obviously these two issues spark off huge amounts of other problems.
I was easily able to think of many reasons to be grateful, though, at the end of yet another nightmarish year. In no particular order:
I may not have achieved much last year, and am unlikely to in 2024. But, I survived.
I was asked to write a poem for my church’s recently Christmas Carol service.
Mum:
It’s been a tough year, that’s for sure.
Bills and prices increasing and happiness and health going down.
Every day is a struggle, And there are too many troubles…
I just want one thing; is it too much to ask? The best Christmas for my kids.
But there is so much pressure: the perfect dinner, the perfect gifts, the perfect matching family pyjamas, for the dog too, of course!
How am I meant to do it? I’m only human!
There is so much pressure.
Sometimes, I want to give up.
But I want to be happy, like others are.
So, I keep spending more money.
Credit card is overflowing.
And the mulled wine keeps flowing,
And the photos aren’t showing
That my patience is near breaking.
I wish that there was more to Christmas than just this.
When did Christmas become about the best home, the best clothes?
Trying to impress others?
Posting your perfect tree and matching decs on Facebook,
trying to look like your house is always tidy and calm.
Forcing the kids and dog into shiny outfits and trying to look full of joy;
that you haven’t spent the last hour arguing.
Pretending to everyone else that you aren’t worn out when all you want to do is relax with your family, making free memories?
Credit card is overflowing,
And the mulled wine keeps flowing,
And the photos aren’t showing
That my patience is near breaking.
I wish that there was more to Christmas than just this.
—
Child:
Mummy is stressed: I think it’s because I didn’t want to get dressed.
Into a sparkly frog jumper.
I shouted, “no, it looks silly!”
Then tried to thump her.
I shouldn’t have done that, I know.
I just get fed up with smiling for photos,
brushing my hair and holding hands
with my smelly brother.
We don’t get along, so why pretend that we do?
Just for her nosy friends on her phone.
Why do they care what we do anyway?
Mummy is shouting and the dog is howling.
I have to hold hands with my brother
and wipe the crumbs off the sofa.
I’m fed up with Christmas already,
it makes everyone cross.
I wish that there was more to Christmas than all this.
…
Older person:
Do you ever wish that there was more to Christmas than all the stress?
Well, I have some good news for you.
Many years ago a perfect baby boy was born to a woman.
She was young, not married and no doubt, worried, sore and exhausted.
She was normal, no-one special,
But she trusted God with her life: that is the important part.
The baby is God: named Jesus;
A perfect person sent to an imperfect and messy, stressy world.
God loves us so much that he sent His son, Jesus, to save us.
Born on the first Christmas,
he lived a perfect life in an imperfect world.
Jesus doesn’t mind if you are messy or well-dressed; bored or stressed.
Jesus doesn’t need money to be spent:
You can’t buy his love: he already loves you,
and hopes that you will love him too.
The proofreader has died. May he rest in peas.
Joke
After my diagnosis in July, I did not Google the life expectancy for my type of cancer; stage 4 metastatic breast cancer spread to the spine; as I would rather not know. Anyway, everyone is different and I am praying and hoping for miraculous healing.
But, I have been told that some people live 10 years of good quality life after diagnosis. I have also heard that 3 years is the average life expectancy.
Macmillan’s website confirms that some people live for several years, while the average is only 2 years! Two years… my daughter will only be 12 then. Which teenage girl can succeed without a mother? My son will probably be at uni. Will he be able to finish his course? Will my husband Mike be isolated after the kids have left home?
But, my oncologist said that I should be able to survive for ‘several’ years; that is dependent on my being able to stick to my (previously horrific) initial treatment plan, which now includes a newly discovered ‘wonder’ drug that shows good outcomes.
However, if I get half the side effects that I had on the drugs after my primary diagnosis, then I will not be able to cope with the treatment for more than a few months.
I have always believed that quality of life (incl. peace, some joy and being able to make happy memories with my kids) is more important than dragging my years out in some shadowy existence where I try desperately to not be consumed by extreme anxiety, anger and all-encompasing misery. It’s not a lot of fun.
In a (rather pathetic) act of hope, I have bought myself a 5 year journal. If I write in it every day, then I need to live for at least 5 years, right?
Having struggled to write a journal since my son’s death 4 years ago, this is a big step for me. Before that, I was fairly prolific since childhood. But only having a tiny amount of space to write in each day is so freeing, and sometimes I wish there was more space. 🙂
It feels good to carry out this tiny act of faith. And also my kids will be able to read it after my death, and find out what a boring person I really am. I know that I should write them both letters and diary entries about memories with them too, but at the moment that feels like too much pressure.
Although I am not afraid of dying, I am worried about abandoning my kids when they are so young, and my husband, who is so disabled by long covid. Who will remember to buy the milk when we run out and send birthday cards and gifts when I am gone?
There is a long list of things that I want to do while I am still physically able. But having limited money and energy makes it hard. I am not sure what I want to prioritise. I want to be selfish and buy books and art supplies, but also spend time with my family and give the kids some treats and happy memories before they become bereaved for a second time.
I want to go back to work soon, partly for normality and because I love the job, and partly because we need the money. But I can imagine how exhausted I will be then, so art and fun will be pushed to the side while I fight to keep going with work, housework, parenting, caring, life admin, treatment side-effects and becoming more poorly over time. It’s like a complicated puzzle, trying to fit all of the pieces together.
I hate puzzles: no matter how much you struggle to solve them, the outcome has already decided by someone else. And you probably lose a vital piece along the way.
“It is not death that a man should fear, but rather he should fear never beginning to live.”
Marcus Aurelius
A time of eggs, rabbits and cherry blossom.
Lawnmowers, waking after a winter’s rest.
Holidays, hot-cross buns and yellow bonnets.
Celebrating fertility and new life.
Relief that the darkness of winter is
finally gone. Enjoying the sun of spring.
Yet in the centre of all this verdant life,
sits death.
The death of one man: one king: one God.
Jesus.
He who chose to die, beaten and bleeding.
Mocked and murdered. He wanted this.
He died as a sacrifice, for all of us.
He died to make us right with God our Father.
Three terrible, dark days he lay entombed.
But he knew. He beat it. He is stronger.
He died once and for all.
One for all.
And when the chocolate has been eaten,
the leaves fall defeated from the weary trees,
The darkness and chill of winter rules again,
I will still have hope.
When my knackered body finally gives up,
I know that I will still live, with my God.
The God who chose to die, who gave up his life.
The wind whispering
Through chilly trees
Sounds like sand on shore
After a wave hits.
One dry yellow leaf
Swiftly falls from its
mother tree’s branch
And an apple clumps
Softly on the lawn.
A toad hides under
A fallen leaf,
Alert for danger.
The labrador jumps,
Trying to catch him:
But misses by miles, Settles instead for
Chomping a spider.
Her web-smeared black
Nose sniffing loudly,
Hoping for more snacks.
She smells wood fire
On the breeze. Shivering,
Heads back inside to
Her humans’ sofa.
6 October 2022 is National Poetry Day.
Why don’t you write a poem? It’s easy to do and doesn’t have to rhyme. Write about what you like, or how you are feeling. 🙂
For more info, go to:
https://nationalpoetryday.co.uk
The National Literacy Trust helps children and families to develop a love of reading and writing. They have great resources and a local site for people from Swindon, called Swindon Stories.
Grief sits heavily on my chest today. I know that she was old and had lived a full life. I didn’t even know her. But. The death of Queen Elizabeth II feels personal to many of us in the UK, and no doubt around the world.
The Queen was the best of Great Britain. The best of all of us. She united us in a way that I doubt anyone will be able to do again.
Her faith was her rock and she pointed us to God during her Christmas speeches. For those of us who are Christians, we take comfort in the fact that she is now in Heaven with her husband, and we will actually get to meet her one day!
As someone who grieves every day for my baby son, this feeling is familiar. It feels like heaviness, like fatigue, like nothing will be the same again. And of course, it won’t. After the death of our monarch, we feel the loss of her wisdom, her ability to unite us and of hope for the future. In this increasingly divided world, the Queen was able to rise above any political divides. I worry about our country, now more than ever.
For those of us who are already grieving a loved one, this time of mourning reminds us of who we have personally lost too. It hurts a little more today.
I think about my son Samuel, who should be 3 now. Who should be starting preschool next year. He wasn’t royal or famous, but he is loved. I wish that everyone could have known him and mourn him too. But Samuel is just as loved, valued and celebrated by God as her Majesty is. Jesus doesn’t care if people were poor or rich, disabled or healthy, old or young. God loves us all the same.
There will be many poor, unknown people who died yesterday. They won’t be on the news or get a funeral procession, but their lives also had value.
I pray that everyone who mourns would know peace and comfort today.
Let’s look after each other. It’s later than we think.
Timmy was a mouse. He lived with his Mummy, Daddy and big sister Dorothy at Number 12, The Hedge. Although he was little, he was brave. When he wasn’t at school, he loved to go on adventures. He had been camping with his dad, climbed right to the top of tall trees, and gone swimming in the lake. It was the school holidays, so Timmy had the whole week to explore.
He had been reading about some children that made a raft, so wanted to have a go doing that himself. He had seen several branches that had been cut down at the local lake, so he found some rope in the garage to tie the branches together. He put the rope in his favourite red backpack. Whenever he went, Tommy carried his red backpack. In it, he always packed a bottle of water, a large slice of cheese, a notepad and pencil. Timmy liked to write about his adventures in his notebook, and you never knew when you might need a snack.
When he got to the lake, Timmy collected as many big branches together as he could, and wrapped the rope around them, just like the book showed him to do. After that, he felt very tired, so he sat down in the sun and drank some water and ate half of the cheese. Timmy wished that he had brought more cheese. The young mouse wanted to take the raft to the island at the centre of the lake. He had never been there before, and was desperate to explore it. Maybe it had pirates? Or treasure? Or maybe even a dragon!
Timmy pulled the raft carefully into the water. It floated! He jumped on board and used a long branch as a paddle. Thankfully the wind was on his side and before long he landed on the island in the centre of the lake. Timmy jumped off the raft, pulled it up the beach and grabbed his backpack.
The island was bigger than it looked. It was overgrown, with trees, bushes and flowers everywhere. He could hear some sparrows singing nearby. It was beautiful.
Timmy decided to head to the interior of the island. If there was any treasure or dragon, it was probably there. He put his red backpack on and set off down an almost invisible path through the foliage.
It was hard going, and soon he was thirsty. He stopped to have a drink from his water bottle, emptying it after a few gulps.
“Oh no! I can’t enjoy an adventure if I am thirsty,” he said to himself.
Timmy decided that he would need to find a clean water source as soon as possible. A clean water source is one that isn’t polluted and isn’t salty. Timmy knew from reading survival books with his Daddy, that you will die quickly if you drink too much salt water. It also makes you even more thirsty.
The young mouse was sure that there would be a small stream or at least a puddle on the island. He had gone too far to walk all the way back to the shore where he had landed. After what felt like a long time, he sat down underneath a huge oak tree near a clearing. He was tired and extremely thirsty. He wrote about what had happened so far that day in his notebook. He reminded himself to pack more water and cheese next time.
He was starting to feel worried, when he noticed a movement in the grass ahead. It was a pretty young frog. She wore a pink hat. She was jumping towards him.
“Hello there, mouse. Are you ok? You look lost,” she said kindly.
“Hello. I am not really lost… well it is my first time on this island, and I am looking for water. Do you know anywhere nearby where I can get a drink?” he asked.
“Oh, you poor thing. You do look worn out. I know where a stream is. I could show you that… or would you prefer a hot chocolate? My cabin isn’t far from here, and I would be happy to share with you.”
“Oh, thank you so much! That would be amazing. I love hot chocolate. Are you sure that it would be ok?” Timmy asked.
“Of course. Follow me.”
She turned and jumped back through the clearing. Timmy followed her, feeling relieved.
They went along a winding path through the trees, to find the frog’s cabin. It was wooden, with small windows and a tall chimney. It looked ancient and had a well out the front. A well is a deep hole in the ground where you can get water from, if you have a bucket attached to a rope.
“Your garden is pretty,” said Timmy.
“Thank you. I love tending my flowers and herbs. The venus flycatchers are my favourite. I keep the grass very short with special scissors, as you can see. Appearances are important, don’t you think?”
She licked her lips.
“Welcome to my home,” the friendly frog said as they walked through the door.
Timmy’s eyes adjusted to the gloomy interior. It was cosy, with a large fireplace in the middle of the room. A black cauldron sat over a roaring fire. Timmy suspected that the frog was making soup for her lunch.
“It’s small, but we love it. Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t ask your name?”
“It’s Timmy, pleased to meet you. What is your name?”
“I am Gretchen. Please, have a seat and I will make you some hot chocolate.”
“Thank you.”
Timmy sat down on a wooden rocking chair in front of the fire. He noticed a shadow in the corner of the room. Two shiny eyes were watching him. It was a crow.
“Oh, don’t mind Cain, he’s my pet. He doesn’t say much but is very loyal. Cain, say hello to Timmy.”
“Caw,” squawked the crow.
He couldn’t actually talk, because he was a crow.
“Um, hello,” replied Timmy nervously.
Gretchen asked him about his family as they drank hot chocolates together. The drink was warm and delicious. Soon, Timmy started to feel sleepy and couldn’t stop himself yawning.
“I am sorry, I suppose that it’s been a tiring morning,” apologised Timmy after another large yawn.
“Please do not worry. I am glad that you are comfortable. Feel free to close your eyes and have a little rest,” she replied kindly.
Timmy soon dropped off into a deep sleep.
He awoke with a fuzzy head and feeling confused. Then he remembered about the friendly frog. He stretched and yawned, thinking that he should probably get on with his adventure. Maybe Gretchen would give him some cheese for lunch?
“Good morning sleepy head,” whispered Gretchen from behind him.
Timmy blinked and opened his eyes, looking around. Good morning?
“You slept all through the afternoon and night, my dear. You must have been extremely tired,” Gretchen said.
She jumped to stand in front of him.
“Gretchen? Is that you? You look different!” Timmy exclaimed.
“Yes, my small mouse friend. It is I, Gretchen. Is something wrong?”
“Well yes… I mean no… it’s just that I thought you were a young frog lady, but now I see that you are a little older that I remember, and… are you a toad?”
“Yes, I am a toad, my frog disguise is a little trick that I play sometimes. For some reason, others don’t always take kindly to an ugly old warty toad,” she replied.
“Oh,” replied Timmy, confused, “I am sorry to have taken up so much of your time, I will leave now. My parents will be worried about me. Please may I fill up my water bottle at your well before I go?”
“Oh, my dear, you will not be leaving,” she smiled.
“Pardon? Thank you for having me, but I really do need to go…” answered Timmy.
“I think that you misunderstand me,” Gretchen replied calmly, “you may want to leave, but you cannot.”
“I can and I will!” shouted Timmy, terrified.
He tried to jump up from the rocking chair, but he could not move. He tried again, pushing his arms down hard on the armrests to stand up. He could not physically get up from the chair.
“What have you done to me?”
“It is a simple potion that I use sometimes. You don’t feel any different, but you won’t be able to leave that chair, until I give you the antidote that is. By the way, did you enjoy the hot chocolate?”
“You put the potion in my hot chocolate, didn’t you? Why did you do that?” Timmy cried.
“Yes, clever mouse boy. And the reason that I did it is because I need you,” she grinned with her big, ugly toad mouth.
“Why?” Timmy’s voice shook with fear.
“I need your legs for my latest job. You see, my customer Silas Snake requires a magical potion for… well, not nice reasons, shall we say. One important ingredient is mouse legs, which you will provide me with.”
“No! Are you joking?” Timmy tried and failed again to stand up.
“I have no sense of humour when it comes to magic. Mr Snake pays very well and expects his potion urgently. It was lucky that I ran into you yesterday.”
“But… but I need my… l… legs,” spluttered poor Timmy.
“I only require two. Do not worry, I will offer you a painkiller potion while I perform the double amputation: I am not a monster,” she chuckled, then licked her bulging eyes with her huge pink tongue.
“Oh.”
Poor Timmy did not know what to do. He just wanted to go home to his Mummy and Daddy. He was trying to be brave, but it was difficult.
Cain stared at him with his deep black eyes. He clacked his beak angrily.
“Good morning sweetie,” said Gretchen brightly, looking up.
“Morning Mum, who is this?”
Timmy looked at her. A young toad stood in front of him, frowning.
“Oh, don’t worry about him. That’s Timmy Mouse, I need two of his legs for Mr Snakes’ potion. Did you have a good sleepover at your friend’s house?” replied Gretchen.
“Yes, I did, we had roast flies and marshmallows over a firepit in her garden,” the young toad replied.
“That’s lovely. Now, I just need to pop to the stream for some fish eyes, and then I will perform the amputation. I didn’t do it last night as I need the ingredients as fresh as possible. Would you make Timmy some toast please? We don’t want him to go hungry,” said Gretchen.
“Mum, not again! Can’t you get a real job?” sighed the girl toad.
“This is my real job! Don’t you start on me – I pay the bills and feed you with the income from my potions. Right, I am off to the stream. Don’t forget to feed the mouse. Oh, and could you give Cain some more corn please?” Gretchen left, carrying a basket and a sharp knife.
The young toad introduced herself as Tiana. She fed the crow, who then flew away.
“He’s probably gone to catch some worms, won’t be back for a while,” she told Timmy as she made him some toast with butter and honey. She also gave him a glass of water.
She sat down on the floor next to Timmy, watching him eat.
“I am sorry about Mum, she can be nasty sometimes. Did she lure you to our cabin with the promise of a snack?”
“Hot chocolate,” replied the mouse, between bites of toast. He was starving.
“Typical,” replied the young toad, “well, I don’t suppose that you want to lose two of your legs, do you?”
“Definitely not,” he replied, “is your Mum a witch?”
“Yes, she is. Her parents wanted her to be an accountant, but she thought this would be more profitable. She does seem to delight in tormenting other creatures,” Tiana sighed.
“I would run away, but I can’t. I want my Mummy and Daddy!”
Timmy couldn’t be brave anymore. Fat tears poured down his whiskery face.
“Oh, you poor thing. Let’s get you out of here. I know the recipe for the antidote. A couple of sips of that and you will be able to move again,” said Tiana.
“But won’t your Mum be cross? Won’t you be punished?” sniffed Timmy.
“She will be furious, but I will blame Cain. He is loyal but can be a troublemaker too. And he does enjoy the taste of mice…”
“Eeep!” squeaked Timmy in fright.
“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t let the stupid crow anywhere near you. You will be long gone by the time either of them returns,” she smiled.
“Thank you! Why are you helping me?”
“I am fed up with Mum and her silly potions. Besides, I like you. And I don’t want you to be hurt,” she replied.
“Thank you, thank you!”
“You’re welcome. Now, let me make this antidote quickly. Finish your breakfast.”
As she made the potion, she asked Timmy about where he lived and how to came to be on the island. He explained about his raft on the shore.
Timmy enjoyed the meal despite the circumstances. He hoped that Tiana wasn’t playing a mean trick on him… what if she gave him another sleeping potion and cut his legs off herself? No, he liked her, she seemed genuinely kind. He breathed slowly, in and out, trying to stay calm.
She finished the antidote and got Timmy to take two sips. After a few minutes, he was able to carefully stand up.
“At last!” shouted Timmy happily.
“Great, I am glad that it worked, I’ve only made that potion once before. Now, you should leave before Mum or Cain get back. I will show you a shortcut out the back of our cabin to get you to the beach.”
“Thank you for helping me, I will never forget your kindness,” grinned Timmy, giving Tiana a big hug.
“Oh, your fur tickles! No worries, come on, this way. Don’t forget your red backpack. Go as quickly as you can. Mum will probably be back any minute. I tell you what… she has an old camouflage potion around here…”
Tiana searched the dusty shelves for a small blue bottle of camouflage potion. She told him to take a sip.
Timmy did so, and felt a tingle.
“That’s better – I can see you as I know that you are there and am looking directly at you. But you will blend in nicely with the trees as you walk to your raft – even Cain with his good eyesight would struggle to spot you.”
She pointed out the path to take back to the beach.
“Goodbye,” she whispered, “good luck.”
“Goodbye Tiana. I hope that you won’t get into any trouble because of this. If you ever need my help for anything, I live at number 12 The Hedge,” smiled Timmy.
“Ok, nice to meet you,” she waved and went back into the cabin, shutting the door behind her.
Timmy strode quickly but quietly along the path. His heart beat furiously in his chest. He couldn’t wait to get safely to the raft and home again. Mummy, Daddy and Dorothy would be amazed to hear his story! They must be worried about him.
The adventurous little mouse finally found his way back to his raft and set off from the island.
When he got home, Mummy, Daddy and Dorothy all gave him a huge hug and then told him off for scaring them.
“Where were you all night?” asked Mummy, crying tears of joy as she held her son close.
“I had an awesome adventure on the island! You probably won’t believe me when I tell you what happened! There was a nasty witch toad, an angry crow and a kind toad, too…” Timmy spoke quickly.
“All right, let’s get you comfy on the sofa… would you like a hot chocolate?” asked Daddy.
“No thank you, not hot chocolate! Anything but that!” shouted Timmy.
The end
26 February is National Tell a Fairy Tale day. What is your favourite fairy tale?
The hero in this story was a mouse; maybe you would like to write a story about your favourite animal or pet?
My daughter Bethany helped me to write this story: we talked about who would have the adventure, what animals the witch and her daughter would be, and what would make it a good story.
Fairy tales often have:
A hero. A bad guy. A problem to solve, or a journey. Some magic, which might be used for good or bad. A happy ending.
You could ask your grown up to help you to tell or write a fairy tale together. 🙂✍🧙♂️
For more resources and stories to read with your children, go to www.literacytrust.org.uk
Clara is a puppy who is excited for her first Christmas. She wants to know why we celebrate, and what everyone loves most about it.
Clara was a puppy. She lived with her Mummy and twin brother Rudy and their humans, Norah and Jasper. Clara was excited because it was Christmas soon. Clara wasn’t sure exactly what Christmas was, but by the sound of it, it involved lots of food, baubles to chew, and extra cuddles with their humans. It sounded amazing!
But today, Clara and Rudy were in the dog house. Apparently, trying to climb up the Christmas tree to eat the baubles was ‘incredibly naughty’.
The puppies had been told ‘no more treats today’. This made Clara sad. Her tummy was rumbling, and it was ages until dinner time.
“It’s not fair,” moaned Rudy, “I just wanted to eat that shiny star at the top of the tree. I love baubles.”
“Well, I wish that I hadn’t followed you. It was all your idea, and now I am in trouble too,” huffed Clara.
“You didn’t have to follow me up the tree!” Replied Rudy.
“I know that, but you called me a coward!” Said Clara.
“Hmph.”
“Stop arguing, puppies,” said Mum, “I am trying to have a nap.”
Clara walked to the back door and stared out at the garden. It was raining. Her tummy rumbled again. She sighed.
The next day, Clara tried to be well behaved, to please her humans. It was tricky. She really wanted to climb that tree and eat some more baubles. Sometimes it was hard being a puppy.
Jasper took her, Rudy and Mummy out for a walk to the park. Norah was wrapping presents, and apparently didn’t need their help, which was a shame. Clara loved the park: they could run around and meet other dogs. There were so many smells: grass, dogs, squirrels, poo. Jasper let them off the lead, and Rudy ran to smell a lamppost. Clara saw a friend, an old English sheepdog called Bert, and went to smell him. Then she licked his face.
“Bert, you are old and have had many Christmases,” said Clara, “what do you love most at Christmas?”
“Well,” replied Bert, “I love many things, but I suppose that my favourite is having my humans around, all of the kids come and visit over the holidays.”
Bert’s humans were grandparents, and had their whole family round on Christmas Day.
“Oh,” said Clara. “I don’t know what I will love most, because this will be my first Christmas. It might be pigs in blankets. Bert?”
“Yes?”
“Why do we have Christmas?” Asked the puppy.
“Well, many years ago there was a baby born in Bethlehem. He was a special baby: he was called Jesus, the son of God.”
“The son of God? That sounds important. Why was he born?”
“To give hope to all people. He told everyone about God, and how much he loves them. In fact, Jesus died for our humans.”
“Oh. Does Jesus love dogs too?”
“Oh yes,” he loves everyone.”
Bert and his human walked away, and Clara went to chase Rudy around a tree.
When they got back home, Norah had hidden all of the presents: Clara had been hoping to have a peek. She was tired after her walk, so curled up next to Mummy and fell asleep. She dreamed of dancing pigs wearing tinsel.
–
It was Christmas Eve. Clara was so excited that she struggled to fall asleep. She closed her eyes and then thought of all the food and presents that she would get the next day, and jumped up, wide awake again. Rudy kept asking Mummy silly questions like how much food they would be able to eat, and whether it was allowed for puppies to climb trees and eat baubles on Christmas Day. Finally, after Mummy told her and Rudy a bedtime story called ‘The night before Christmas’, she nodded off.
Clara suddenly jolted awake. She looked around, sniffing the air. What had woken her? She climbed gently out of bed so as not to wake her mum or brother. There! What was that sound? It sounded like… like… bells! Little bells jingling. She looked out at the back garden, but couldn’t see anything. Then she heard something from the living room. Very quietly, she pawed the kitchen door open. She popped her nose through the gap, sniffing hard. There was a new smell: similar to her humans’. Was there a burglar come to steal all of their Christmas presents? She would teach them a lesson! She would bite them hard on the bottom.
Clara crept on tip-paws over the living room carpet. There, a fat man was standing by the Christmas tree! She would sneak up and bite him on his bottom before he even realised that she was there.
‘Chomp!’
Clara took a small bite of the man’s red trouser bottoms.
“Yowch!” He shouted, jumping a couple of feet in the air.
He turned around. He had a big white beard and bright blue eyes. His hat was red… hang on, he looked familiar.
“Oh no!” Barked Clara, “are you Father Christmas?”
“Ho ho, yes I am, young puppy. You have extremely sharp teeth.”
“I am so sorry, I thought that you were stealing our presents. Please don’t put me on the naughty list?”
“Well, seeing as you were just trying to protect your home, I will let you off.” Father Christmas smiled.
“Yes, Mr Christmas. I promise to be a good puppy from now on. Please don’t tell Mummy that I bit you on the bottom?”
He patted Clara gently on the head.
“Ok, I won’t.”
Clara noticed another smell and looked behind Santa: there was a small puppy, looking scared.
“Oh, Clara meet my newest pet, I just found her today. I was delivering over Finland when I noticed a little black nose sticking up out of a snowdrift. I flew in for a closer look, and found her, freezing cold. I put her in my coat to warm her up. Her name is Estella.”
The tiny puppy looked at Clara wide-eyed. Her brown fur looked like it needed a brush.
“Hello Estella, my name is Clara. Would you like a treat?”
She nodded her head.
Clara gave her a puppy treat from her Christmas stocking that was hanging over the fireplace.
“I probably shouldn’t be looking in here, but my humans would understand.”
She ate it up quickly, “thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” smiled Clara.
“Father Christmas, could I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“What do you love most about Christmas?” Asked Clara.
“Oh, that’s a good question. Let me see… well I love the snow; I love my big Christmas dinner that Mother Christmas makes me after I have delivered all of the gifts; but most of all I love making sure that everyone has a gift that they can treasure. Sometimes it is something small, but it brings them great joy.”
Clara smiled.
“Now, help me to put your family’s presents under the tree, please?” He asked.
Clara helped him to arrange them all neatly under the tree: Norah’s, Jasper’s, Mummy’s, hers and Rudy’s. She started sniffing her gift, but stopped when Santa looked at her.
“Could I open mine now please?”
“Ho ho, no young Clara,” laughed the plump old man, “you have to wait until the morning, like all of the other people and pets. Now, I must get on, it’s a busy night for me, you know.”
“OK, bye bye Father Christmas! Thank you for our presents. Goodbye Estella!”
“You’re welcome. Goodnight.” He popped the tiny dog into his front coat pocket.
“Bye bye,” whispered Estella sleepily.
“Goodnight, safe journey! Sorry about your trousers.”
Santa turned around and headed back up the chimney. Clara noticed that he was wearing snowman pants underneath his red trousers.
She went back to bed, giving her present one more quick sniff on the way past.
–
“It’s Christmas!” Rudy was panting in her face.
“Get off!” Clara laughed, pushing him off her.
Rudy started running around the kitchen in circles, chasing his tail and then biting it.
“Ow.”
Clara stretched and smelled the air. It smelled like turkey, roast potatoes and joy.
“Good morning puppies,” grinned Norah.
She was putting something delicious-smelling in the oven.
Rudy and Clara went to her for pats and cuddles, licking her hands happily.
“Where’s Mummy?” Clara asked Rudy.
“She is in the living room, let’s go see what Father Christmas brought us!” Replied her brother.
Clara remembered what had happened the night before, and smiled to herself as she followed Rudy out of the kitchen.
Jasper was handing Rudy his Christmas present – Clara recognised it as one that Father Christmas had brought.
“This must be from Norah,” Jasper said, “I don’t remember it.”
Rudy jumped in excitement and tore at the wrapping with his teeth. It was a squirrel squeaky chew toy. He threw it up in the air and caught it, tail wagging.
“And here is one for you, Clara,” said Jasper.
It was also one from Santa. She opened it – a snuffle mat with small treats hidden in it. Wonderful!
Mummy opened her present: it was a cosy red blanket.
“Let’s save your other gifts until after dinner, shall we?” Suggested Jasper.
Clara didn’t think that was a great idea, but she could be patient.
Jasper started cutting up vegetables and stirring things in big pots on the stove, so Norah took them for a walk. The frost on the grass was cold under her paws and looked like icing sugar, sparkling in the winter sunshine. All the humans were wishing each other “Merry Christmas” and they saw Bert again, wearing a fluffy red and white hat. They had a lovely walk but were in a hurry to get home, ready for Christmas dinner.
After a delicious meal of turkey, pigs in blankets, roast potatoes, honey parsnips and carrots, the family were snoozing in front of the fire. They would open presents after the Queen’s speech.
“Mummy, what do you love best about Christmas?” Asked Clara.
“The thing that I love most about Christmas is seeing your and Rudy’s happy faces and wagging tails. And also the food,” Mummy smiled.
Clara thought that she loved everything about Christmas.
The end
What do you love most about Christmas? Can you draw it? Have you written to Father Christmas yet this year?
For more literacy resources and stories for kids, please go to https://literacytrust.org.uk/
This story is dedicated to my labrador puppy. It will be her first Christmas this year. ❤
I had seen a few adverts for the ‘Rainbow run your own way’, to raise funds for Children’s Hospice South West – the group of hospices that Charlton Farm is part of here in South West England. Charlton Farm is where my son Samuel lived for most of his very short life. It is a wonderful place that cares for children with life-limiting illnesses, and their parents and siblings.
I ignored them at first, telling myself that it was too much effort, and I wouldn’t raise much money anyway… then I saw it advertised again and thought that I could easily walk for 5km, and would rope my kids, parents and in-laws in. I admit that I didn’t feel enthusiastic. I was struggling after Samuel’s second anniversary, and didn’t know if I would be up for any challenges.
To win a medal, you had to raise £15 person that you registered. I thought that I could probably give enough for myself and my two kids to do so. In the end, I signed up 6 of us to our family team.
I set up a Justgiving page, setting my target at £100. That was quite high, but I was trying to be optimistic. I met the £100 target within 24 hours! So I set the new target to £200. The money flooded in. 🙂
Alex Dixon is fundraising for Children’s Hospice South West (justgiving.com)
In the end, I made over £650 including gift aid. And I later found out that I was in JustGiving’s top 20% of fundraisers for the month of June. That’s out of thousands of different Justgiving pages.
I couldn’t believe how generous people are. I am so grateful for everyone who gave – including some people that I don’t know. I guess that it’s personal – people know that my family were helped by the hospice. And I obviously have lovely friends and family.
My team also won the prize for best fancy dress – if you know me well, you will have an idea of how happy that made me.
We did the 5km walk around Stanton Park, which is where Samuel’s memorial tree is. It’s a special place for our family. I thought that a team of 6 was pretty good to do the walk, but people kept asking to join us on the day. We had 23 people and 1 dog on the team. It was fabulous to feel so supported by my family and friends. It was such an enjoyable day, and the weather behaved. Not everyone knew each other before the walk, but they all got on well and it was a great atmosphere.
I am so glad that I decided to sign up for the rainbow run your way. I love Charlton Farm and their amazing staff- and hopefully they will be able to support families like mine for many more years.
May is a difficult month, with it being Samuel’s birthday and anniversary of his death – but this was something positive to focus on.
Thank you everyone who joined in and donated.
Just another blog 