That knock on the door

A lazy(ish) morning with Fenner, collect Mia, lunch at mum's with my sister and her family and then on to my Nana and Grandad's home for the evening party. From lunch onwards this is pretty much how Christmas day has been since I was little. 

Four generations in one home, which was the home I was born into, all still laughing, poking fun at each other and shouting at the smaller ones to "WATCH THE DOOR HANDLES" as they zoom around.

And then the knock at the door. The small kids scream as the elders ask loudly who that could be. Then he walks in. With his big bag of presents, calling out names one by one, we all get to sit on his knee for a quick kiss and a photo. 

Now Father Christmas always had an uncanny resemblance of my Grandad , they met in the navy apparently which is why they had the same tattoos. The kids grew suspicious and simply didn't believe us that Grandad was only out of the room because he had to watch the reindeer whilst Father Christmas paid us the special visit. So, a few years ago when the knock came and FC walked in the door to a barrage of rather confident 'Hello Grandad' style greetings they were rather taken aback when the big man pointed to the back of the room to where our Grandad stood, rather smugly. 

Since then it has been a bit of 'guess the Father Christmas' with the kids. This year he sounded just like my cousin's partner, not that either of her children noticed.

S