** No actual research has gone into the facts expressed in this blog; they are a version only**
It goes back millennia. Chanukah, the festival of light. When the Jews took back the temple there was enough oil for one day. It takes eight to make the oil, the light lasted for eight days – bingo. Festival of Light, 8 days of Chanukah and Potato Latkes with Apple Sauce all round; Mazeltov.
Jesus upped the ante. Fish, loaves feast and then… 12 Days of Christmas and a Partridge in a Pear Tree (I don’t even know if Partridge is kosher). Which leads me on to the side issue of why you all get a glazed ham to celebrate the birth of someone Jewish, I never understood that.
Ramadan goes on for 29-30 days and this month the Mayan calendar crescendos on 2112 2112. Then its time for a spiritual take-off. The point of all this? There’s no need to show off.
Didsbury Son’s little victories are a joy to me and watching every cell develop on the twins as they move from inert to sentient is just wonderful… to me, Didsbury Wife and grandparents. It’s now 4am and as my little girl hovers between scream and sleep I am transfixed by every nuance. But I’m not sure I want to brag about it to friends and strangers. Her developing multi-dimensional ability to break wind whilst positing and grabbing a fistful of hair is impressive, but not worth it’s own series.
I heard of one acquaintance who brought out (without irony) their daughter’s report card to show dinner guests; unfair. Unless it describes her Jason Bournesque dealing with school bullies or her ability to down 40 Turkey Twizzlers at the school competitive eating championships who cares? It is lovely to be proud of your children / pets / Pokemon collection – but competitive parenting is dull. Duller than Muppets in Space which I am currently enduring with Didsbury Son whilst Little Lady Didsbury plays on a mat built for babies at least a month older than her. She is soooo clever.
I mustn’t brag, but my babies are amazing.
The boy with the roundest head in Didsbury can wake instantly from the deepest sleep the moment you even consider putting him near a Moses Basket. Little Miss Didsbury can scream at a pitch that would make Ella Fitzgerald blush and can time it for each sports update on the radio. Roundy head babe is able to stare past you in an eerie Sixth Sense style which at 3am is a little unsettling and baby girl can reduce me to mush with one look that could be wind or might be a smile for a Didsbury Dad.
This tree in Didsbury Park is bigger than any other tree