Fifteen years ago Husband explained to me that one of his dreams was to take his future children to Lapland to meet the real Father Christmas. I kind of chuckled. Yeah, right. As Christmas draws near, I'm getting a bit nervous, though. Brochures have arrived in the mail from Ireland (we'd leave from there, as that is where we're spending Christmas.) He recently made mention of staying in an ICE HOTEL (press panic button.) I am not ice hotel material. I don't think I would survive dinner, never mind sleeping on blocks of ice. How do you pee in the middle of the night? The thought of that makes me want to cry.
There is no heat in an ice hotel...what kind of stupid concept is that?! I would shrivel up and have to be buried in Lapland (if the ground wasn't frozen), food for the reindeer. As Juniorette's age of questioning Santa's existence grows near, Husband's dream becomes more pressing. I've promised to travel far into Canada without complaining (Quebec is lovely in winter, right?), participate in Christmas snowball fights without running inside every five minutes, and even agreed to outdoor ice skating every week this winter...all the while showing the kids lots and lots of photographs of Lapand and the real Father Christmas. I don't think it's working, though. Husband looks kind of excited these days. Do I have any readers from Lapland? Can you help me out here, talk me down, maybe?