...THE HEAD TEACHER WISHES EVERYONE A "PEACEFUL" HOLIDAY.

At the end of each Autumn term the Head teacher of our local primary school ends her newsletter with: "I hope you all have a peaceful holiday." She may well intend it with genuine sentiment but I always detect a hint of sarcasm in her statement - can you really have a peaceful Christmas with four noisy kids at home all day for more than a fortnight at the busiest time of year?

We're not everyone's idea of a typical family - you know, one of those families you see on the insurance adverts - two point four children - looking squeaky-clean outside an immaculate house with their deliriously happy parents behind them.I'm not sure families like that actually exist; but people assume they do and it's by no means easy to live up to such an ideal stereotype. I'm glad we're not a typical family because if we are then everyone has my sincerest sympathies. We fall into a category somewhere between the Simpson's and the Adam's family. Dysfunctional is the word which springs to mind. Welcome to Christmas with the Kaye family...

For the first few days of the holiday we all had to stay in quarantine because the children brought home some unwelcome guests from school - head lice. I might just be nit-picking here, but I really think the Head teacher should think twice about packing everyone so tightly into the assembly hall for the Nativity plays. The lice have a field day, walking from head to head until the entire school is infested.I thought we'd rid ourselves of the tiny parasites after getting through several bottles of insecticidal shampoo and decided to send all four kids to the local hairdressers for shorter, more manageable hairstyles. Ten minutes later they were back:"They won't cut our hair because we've still got nits," they moaned in unison. Great, I thought, now we are the village's very own leper colony.

Some religious friends invited us to a party at the Mormon church (I have a feeling they think heathens like us need converting). The church is an impressive structure on the outskirts of town with a spire which stretches majestically heavenwards.

"Mum, can we climb up it?" Michelle, my eleven year old asked.

"Sure," I said, trying to humour her, "There might even be a fairy-tale castle at the top; say hi to the giant for me, and ask if he's got any gold coins to spare."

At the party just I was just beginning to think my kids were behaving at least as well as everyone else's, my eldest

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