Mr B: I see christmas in the end of the tunnel

this time of year is my inner question always daimon: I will survive weekends?

for some reason the argument ”we've always done it” deep and the shine of that it is a major holiday, and with the years collects more traditions than one can bear. At the home of the us it will be, for example, no real christmas without us clapping a live donkey, eat breakfast at Pressbyrån, hangs a Danish raincoat in grangrenen, sounds of an English watch, smaskar Italian ice cream and vansinnesskrålar a reklamsång if a her family. It goes by the way so this: ”Now it is christmas again, now it is fun again, with gran in the julgransfoten Nisse [2 times]. On the e elegant, on the e really true, that the Nisse has received the first prisse [2 times]”.

in Short: everything Should be as it has always been, you have a lot to stand in.

to add a new tradition. This year seems to be Little B pulls me in the legs when I lie on my back so that I go around on the parquet – (I clean?) – while Mrs B pours in with more glitterskrot at this year's inomhusträd. After a while, see both the christmas tree and I look like we been dragged through a garbage dump.

a Few hours later, when I should be sleeping, when all should be sleeping, I sit on the couch and stare at the emptiness in grangrenarna and think of the solemnity of the special chicken race: can you get all the gifts before you clap together?

Small B is not as small anymore and need me less often. But now, this julförberedelsenatten, she shouts.

It is very quiet, outside the windows have frost gnistertäckt trees and bushes, and the snow laid a gentle, consolatory blanket. Even our overloaded gran get a nostalgic shimmer, who wanted to say: ”even those who carry too much crap and is already is a little scrubby is possible to love.”

, inside the Little B's room, how she cries out, ”daddy!” and a simple heat spreading from the pit of her stomach. It is, of course, the family time, but Small B is not as small anymore and need me less often. But now, this julförberedelsenatten, she shouts. I knock gently on her door and opens.

" What can I do for you, my beloved children?

" Huh?! What?

It turns out that she at all has cried out. What I heard, what brought julkärlekskänslorna was someone at Netflix, who screamed, and not ”dad” but, in fact, ”nerd alert!”

But in anticipation that we take our senses and move the festivities to a part of the year when you have time to enjoy it (late August?) my tip is this: Nurture all julkänslor you can muster, dear readers, even if they would be switched to Gretchen in’You're the worst” scream ”nerd” at you.