Seeing the look of sheer elation on my little girl’s face, I chuckled. At two years old, Olive was really getting into the festive spirit.
She carefully put a mince pie on a plate, and I placed a can of beer next to a pint glass.
‘Don’t forget a carrot for Rudolph,’ she said.
She was so excited she was bouncing off the walls, but it was lovely to see her experiencing the magic.
Her little sister Florence was just nine months old, so my fiancé Dan, 38, and I could focus all our attention on Olive in the build-up to the big day.
Popping Olive and Flo in their Christmas pyjamas, we snuggled up while I read them a festive story in bed.
‘When I wake up, will Father Christmas be gone?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘But I’m sure he’ll leave you lots of presents!’
The next morning at the crack of
