On Thursday I went out into the wilderness of Waitrose. Yep, I really went out of my comfort zone there eh?
Why is she blogging about a trip to Waitrose you wonder ? Well, you see, Waitrose bought me a Christmas miracle this week. Awwwww, a warm and fuzzy Christmas miracle eh? Wishful thinking there mate. The Christmas miracle that Waitrose gave me was the realisation that “Shit! Christmas is nearly here!” Since the summer the extent of my trips out have been the front seat of the car, my little girls preschool, and the hospital or occasionally a doctors surgery. In all honesty, it’s been a bit of a pissed misery.
But Christmas is everywhere, right? All over the TV, all over the online adverts, all over Facebook and Twitter ? Well, that’s a bit like saying that because there’s a Knicker factory on Corrie so I must be knowledgable on how to keep a thong from riding into cheesewire, or because i once watched star trek i can fly a spaceship. Until this week Christmas was simply a bunch of abstract concepts popping up around some places where I spend less than 5% of my waking hours (This being the only time I’m awake and not coughing blood).
The problem is, I have children. Young children. Children who believe in santa and are hoping for presents. I also have an autistic 18 year old. To put this into perspective, for all of his bluster and hormone fuelled unchanelled rage, he is stuck at 8 with a great many things. Cheeky,funny, somewhat materialistic… he also wants presents, and turkey. I’ve been doing little bits and pieces through the year, but compared to the explosion on a crap factory that is modern, competitive, commercially stoked christmas? I’ve done nothing.
Shopping, I am not even going to entertain the idea of shopping in the flesh at this stage. Im not currently in a position to go it alone. This means I’m tied to weekends mostly. The week days I could do now have nativities in the middle of them. Weekend shopping in December, in a wheelchair teaches you very quickly where good will to all men lives. It lives in the bank balance of Mark and of Spencer. It does not live in any of the bags that I’m likely to get smacked in the face with, the large bottoms which almost land on me when they decide to shoot past my wheelchair when they can see that it is moving and should be able to work out that its easier for them to wait or change course than it is for me to pull an emergency stop or change course in a split second. Stopping distance people, stopping distance !
And if I thought that shopping was bad, well it’s roll in the park compared to trying to see Father Christmas with my children. I should have thought of this a while ago really. When I did think about it in September I couldn’t book tickets. Now that tickets can be booked they’ve all gone for the bookable events. that leaves Santa in a caravan. I can’t get up the ramp. I can’t see in the van and so I can’t take a photo of the children. But this is undoubtedly the only way that they will get to see Santa this year. there are Santa’s where you can queue but the slalom of roped queue systems are not chair friendly. Waiting in the cold in a chair is not a fun experience either. Seeing santa with the children is something that I regret not making the most of now that I’m out of club Santa.
Christmas from the BlueBadge Zone is such a strange place to be. You miss the build up, you miss the hype. It just plonks itself upon you rather unceremoniously. You sit rather dazed, and confused, as the rest of the world is putting up their tree and bragging that their shopping is done. The lead up to Christmas passes you by.
I miss getting out and about and making things that bit more special for the kids. If I could have one thing this Christmas season it would most certainly be an accessible santa. That look of joy on a child’s face when they see Santa is better than any othed gift. it’s something that I miss.
Anyhoo, It’s Christmas in the shoe-shack now. Mr amazon saved the present disasters. The Dec’s go up tomorrow, oh, and “he’s baaaaaaaaaaaack’