You reach a point in life when Christmas becomes yours. It might be just that you grow up and want to do things differently. It might not be a choice you wanted to make. It might be because your own family has grown and needs change. It is your choice how to celebrate.
I have only ever hosted Christmas once before I think. And then my Mum was with me so we did the Christmas we have always done together. Just with a smaller oven.
But this year our girls are bigger. We wanted to stay at home and Paul’s parents came to stay. So for the first time ever Christmas was being run by us.
I have always adored Christmas and growing up at home our family traditions held good. Early present opening. Bucks Fizz earlier than is probably advisable. Mum appearing in the room to open a present or two throughout the morning wearing a pinny. A walk. Sherry in a World’s Best Mum glass. Fantastic food. That smile my Mum has when she is looking after her family. Lit pudding. Dad’s brandy butter. Games after lunch. No time or inclination for the Queen. Home made Christmas cake. Turkey sandwiches. Stories. As we got older there were evening games and cocktails. That was always my Christmas.
So year we needed our Christmas. A Christmas to fit our family and to entertain our lovely guests.
So we did it. And just as expected it was almost exactly the same. The only difference was chicken instead of turkey (because there was less chance of me overcooking it) and the quality of the Christmas cake (I tried Delia I really did). Oh and brandy butter from a jar (sorry Dad).
This Christmas fitted our life. Just as this Christmas has always fitted. It was lovely.
But I missed my Mum and Dad. Because my Christmas is theirs. And always will be.
Unless we win the lottery and end up in Hawaii one year…