You know when you have a period of craziness coming, and all you want to do is get through a period to get through to the crazy (assume crazy, in this scenario, is a good thing)?

Today is the 28th of November (as you might’ve guessed because you’re rather educated and literate). In two days’ time the advent calendars come into play – a paper one for me, the non-chocolate lover, a Cadbury’s one for Alastair, and two Peppa Pig ones for little porcine-penchant people.

It’ll be hard to top this past weekend – Saturday we went into London where we all got to hold the actual London 2012 Olympic Torch (yes really), followed by a massive Vietnamese meal. Yesterday we bought our Christmas tree, because it sits outside for a week to acclimate before we bring them inside. And yesterday afternoon I took the twins to see “Arthur Christmas” at the cinema, which once it’s released on DVD is going to become part of the regular Christmas viewing repertoire.

All the presents are bought, and one night this week while Alastair’s at class I’m going to follow my own tradition – a bottle of champagne, “Elf”, and some gift-wrapping, which considering how hard it is to use my hands, the wrapping is going to be interesting, to say the least (the hands and fingers are the reason why no Christmas cards are coming out this year – I simply can’t write any longer). I will resolve my Frankenwrapping by excess use of tape. I’m a big believer in tape. If you’ve ever received a package from me you’ll find it’s been taped to buggery. Tape is something that cures all ills.

This Saturday the tree goes up, complete with the new twinkly star I bought because Nora very solemnly informed me that Christmas Trees (which they called “Missus G’s” last year and which we adults still call them, to the consternation of the twins) must have stars. So this one will. Sunday we’re having lunch with friends, and then the whole joyous season kicks off.

Next week I have my office Christmas party (I am wearing my posh little yellow dress). The day after that, I go to Heathrow to pick up an elf – my father is flying in, and bringing with him a 6 foot tall light up Santa. I am beside myself with excitement in anticipation of Nick’s reaction. The Santa will be joining our three giant light-up snowmen, whom we pulled out last night and checked all the bulbs, and Nick wouldn’t leave them alone for a moment.

My father’s here, we all take a trip on a Santa Express train, where the twins get to meet Father Christmas. There are various further Christmas events, including Alastair’s office parties and I have a theatre day with two of my close mates, in which we’ve all vowed to dress black tie for.

And then you hit the week before Christmas, and I’ve taken the last two weeks of the year off. I won’t be checking work email or work voicemails. I’m going to watch holiday films and write and just be.

I had a small wobble, a wobble which threatened the rosy glow I had brewing for Christmas. It clouded my eyes for a short burst and threw me into a slump, the likes of which threatened to have me change all my recently changed passwords of “Christmasfreakingrocks!” to “Whateverwhocares”, which saw me feeling blue, which had me feeling powerless and out of control.

I’ve pulled the reins back on that pity party.

I won’t have Christmas get rained out this year. Nothing – not the procedure coming on my ankle today, not the incessant reminders of my overfull email inbox, not the lack of cold, not the little wobble last week – is going to take away Christmas from me this year.

This year will be different.

And to that end, the first of the Christmas posts has just been concluded (it’s in my head, they’re the only ones I think of in advance and the ones in which I spend a lot of time thinking of the wording). There will be a few this year, those Christmas posts.

Christmas 2011. I’m feeling it.

-S.