Memoir

The Best Christmas Ever

I found out it doesn’t have to be about the presents

I have always been someone who loves Christmas. I have been known to go overboard. Really overboard.

Growing up in Australia, we were upside down so Christmas meant long hot summers, cicadas chirping away in the evening and plenty of flies and mosquitoes to keep us on our toes.

The Christmas tree (complete with fake snow) would be bursting at the seams with decorations on every branch and presents overflowing underneath it.

Christmas Eve was the longest day of the year. Mothers would kick their children out of the house so they could finish the endless chores required to ensure that Christmas Day would go smoothly.

Christmas morning could never come fast enough. Or end quick enough for our parents who were running on automatic after spending all night putting together presents Santa’s elves couldn’t get around to doing.

Good times indeed.

When I became a mother I did everything to ensure that my daughter’s Christmas would be just as memorable as I recalled my own.

I planned it meticulously.

Visits to Santa, carolling, looking at lights and decorating our own house. I made sure that we rivalled the Griswold’s in our yard decorations and one year was pleasantly surprised to see a tour bus drive past.

We had made it.

I’m not sure how much of it made an impression on my daughter but she was certainly impressed with the stash that Santa left her each year. Being a single mum I went above and beyond to ensure that she never missed out on anything.

Family meant everything to us and Christmas was a time to show this to the world. Kids running around, playing with the latest toys and gadgets.

Adults sitting by the pool finally relaxing after the long lead up, usually with something cold and alcoholic in hand. And enough leftovers to ensure there was no cooking for at least a week.

Yes life was good. And Christmas even more so.

Unfortunately children grow up way to quickly and before we knew it we were in that in…