Every available space in the house is crammed full of packages.
You think you have made a really good job of hiding all of the packages until you find one of the children with a present in their hands asking innocently what it is.
You get actual post every morning. And it is handwritten with a stamp and everything.
Your children start to think that Father Christmas has moved from the North Pole to the Amazon warehouse.
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You are on first name terms with the local couriers and postmen.
You have to make a daily trip to your favourite cafe for one of their Christmas specials, just so you can have another Christmas cup to add to your collection (and a few more inches to your waistline, you have to have extra cream, it’s Christmas!)
Actual hard-earned cash is parted with for a jumper with a reindeer on that lights up and plays Jingle Bells even though you said you would never ever wear a Christmas jumper.
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Your (older children) keep emailing you screen shots of things they just so happen to like (I think I preferred the Argos catalogue lists).
Every advert on TV is a heart-warming tale of festive goodwill to all men (women and children). And every other advert is a toy advert.
The music from the Snowman makes you sob again. (Why does he have to melt? Why?)
You’re excited about the festive episodes of Eastenders even though you haven’t watched it in years.
Sudden movement in certain rooms should be avoided to prevent unexpected present fall from the ones balancing precariously on the tops of shelves.
Every floor in the house has a coating of tinsel pieces and glitter.
There is never enough sellotape.
You feel the mad urge to create something festive.
At least one meal a day consists of mince pies (because most mince pies have a sell by date of the second week in December).
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You have enough batteries in the house to power Blackpool illuminations.
The neighbours’ Christmas lights keep you awake at night.
The tubs of chocolates you bought last month for Christmas (because they were on offer) are all gone. As are the ones you bought to replace the ones you ate.
Never mind singing about it, you buy enough food to feed the world.
You can’t stop singing Christmas songs and you make up your own versions. All I want for Christmas is definitely not you and last Christmas I gave you my chocolates and I won’t be doing that again.
Pinterest is full of ideas for Valentines and Mothers Day. Christmas is so two months ago.
Every blog post you write contains the word ‘Christmas’.
You tell yourself with every chocolate, cake, mince pie or glass of wine that Christmas calories don’t count.
You keep buying ‘just one more present.’
Money? What money?
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