I adore Christmas.
We deck the house in tinsel and anything else red, white or remotely festive. The kids have their photo taken with Santa every year, and I let them decorate the tree and resist the urge to step in and coordinate or straighten anything. Frankly, by the end of December, our home looks a downright mess—but I love it and wouldn’t swap the madness for anything. I was forced one year to get organised long before Santa’s arrival by the imminent arrival of my second baby, and found the fact that I had everything sorted long before December liberating. So now I’m one of those people who stash away presents throughout the year, and, as long as I remember what I’ve actually hidden and where, I find the forward planning brings me as much pleasure as the season itself.
And I’m a stickler for traditions—but with an easy twist. We love roast turkey, but I cheat and get the rolled breast already stuffed from the butcher. I love a glazed ham, and, like everyone else, we live off the leftovers for the next two weeks. In our house, it’s a feast on the deck, a dip in the pool and an afternoon sleep on the lounge-room floor.
Christmas can be such a happy time, but such a tense one too. Peel off the wrapping and you’ll find very few families survive the Christmas celebrations completely unscathed.
No matter how much we think we’ve grown up and become our own person, family dynamics have a way of wiping away the years and bringing us right back to where we left off.
We may return home with spouses and children in tow, but we return immediately to our childhood roles. It seems ancient issues last longer than Auntie Rosie’s brandied pudding and can bubble over quicker than unattended custard.
Rivalries invariably resurface. Whether you are ten or 40, mum’s favourite never changes, daddy’s little girl will always be daddy’s little girl, and the brother who always skipped the washing up still skips the washing up. Dad is the only one who can carve the ham properly and grandma still has the seniority to insist things are done her way.
Add to the mix new spouses, in-laws, old arguments and a few glasses of champagne and you can have one scary pot of tension.
Then there is the issue of who goes where . . . whose family takes priority for lunch or dinner on Christmas Day and who gets Boxing Day or Christmas Eve. Or how many different houses you can cram into one day, and who has to drive.
Better still, you may be brave enough to finally host the day at your place. It’s a lot of work but the benefits outweigh all the preparations and washing up.
I love nothing more than planning the menu, setting the table, piling the food in the centre and letting everyone help themselves and eat way too much, carols playing and everyone wearing their paper hat.
And the smells take me right back to being a kid and doing the same. Wearing my best dress, watching my grandmother light the pudding, hoping I got a sixpence and spending the rest of the day playing with my presents.
So if you make it through ok and come out the other side all still talking to each other and glassware intact, then take a bow. It seems Santa and stone fruit aren’t the only things we can bank on in the summer holidays.