Yesterday saw the arrival of Sinterklaas again in the Netherlands.
Replete with steamboat and an army of Zwarte Pieten, remainders of the Moors in Spain.
We watched it together, me shouting enthusiastically everytime Sinterklaas popped onto the screen.
Son#1 has started to doubt his existence from under his blanket on the couch.
I would simply love to perpetuate the lie for the time being, as it enforces good behaviour and gives me something to bargain with.
Sigh.
The husband and I wrapped all the little gifts that the Pieten would be depositing through the fireplace in the coming weeks, left one in each child's shoe, had wine, and plonked in front of the fire.
We went to bed at 23h00, hoping for a good night's sleep.
Rude awakenings followed at 3.
Lasted until 5.
Then again at 5h45, just as I nodded off again.
Then some shouting to go back to bed as all hope felt lost for getting any sleep whatsoever.
The husband finally gave up and got up.
Just relieved him from his post.
The boys are all chuffed with chocolate initials and free Lego catalogues I got at the toy store.
We'll all be taking a nap this afternoon.
We go through this every year.
Sigh.
.
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