Even at my tender age, I've noticed that life seems to speed up at the end of the year. Papa always makes ambitious but half-baked plans to enjoy the pre-Christmas season. Early shopping, Christmas carols with the family and a glass of crème de vie, lots of pictures, letters to Santa, cards to friends, cooking, breathing in the crisp cold December air, walks along Paris avenues decorated to hail the season.
But I could have told him that, while it's nice to plan, it never really works out the way you want it to. Sure, we got the letters to Santa off on time, but the build up was less about eggnog and more about late nights at work, swarms of panicked parents in overcrowded shops, fender benders, garage doors falling on papa's head, rain, and listening to 50 kids sing "We weesh yoo a marry Chreesmas" in a small sauna as Inès hides from the camera in the fourth row.
That's why, in this life, I decided to take it easy on myself.
Inès is more the active kind, a bit like papa. And while my powers to drive people crazy are unmatched, I'm nevertheless more the cool type. Don't get up until breakfast is on the table, don't get dressed until five minutes before the school bell rings, and never, ever cooperate until those ominous words come ringing forth: "You know Santa sees everything you do!"
This works for me and the proof is that this was a great Christmas season. There were two Christmas trees (count'em two!), Ata's delectable pernil, lots of chocolate, new songs to learn, great lights on the rue Lecourbe, Fico's visit, ice cream, whipped cream, and after Christmas, meters and meters of snow all over the Grandes Montets to tear up with my diminutive skis in the charming company of Julia and Isabella! Oh, and that tartiflette!
By the way, it seems that my languid approach worked this year. At least as far as the Santa approval rating goes. I got lots of stuff I like and lots I don't need but like all the same. The rest I stole from Inès.
If your're not offended by bad photography, check out more Christmas snaps here: and a white-toed eagle in a pear tree.
And marvel at death-defying skiing here: snowmageddon in Argentière.
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