It is undeniable. The Christmas season is in full swing. Christmas Day is fast approaching.

My day job has wrapped for the year, and I have braved the Shopping Centres for what is hopefully the last time until after the silly season.

Christmas movies have been steadily devoured, particularly those from the 80’s and 90’s which hold that extra little bit of Christmas magic for me. Apart from my annual viewing of “Love Actually”, I also particularly enjoy “Miracle on 34th Street” with Richard Attenborough playing the quintessential Santa Claus.  Mara Wilson who plays the adorable Susan Walker in the movie is only slightly older than me so anything starring Mara when she was younger was always on my watch list. I could very much understand her excitement at figuring out she was meeting THE Santa Claus, after her initial scepticism and Matilda, of course I could have been that little book worm.

Christmas for me is a time to look backwards whilst knowing that I am blessed in the present. Festive memories of the 90’s are only slightly obscured by the haze of time. I remember the incredibly tacky, brightly coloured tinsel and the lights that always looked like a fire hazard. Christmas ornaments were a mixture of incredibly fragile exceptionally fine glass baubles handed down by some older relative and our own creations with a few Disney characters thrown in the mix.

Presents were wrapped in mismatched wrapping paper and there was curling ribbon seemingly used by the metre to try childproofing the presents. Certainly, no Instagram worthy, carefully curated piles of presents that looked like they had fallen out of a catalogue. No, it was mounds of presents and the careful sneaky shake or weight check as curiosity got the better of us when no adults were around.

I remember Christmas Eve spent having dinner with my maternal Grandfather and that part of the family. My little sister weeping into her food when she was told by Grandad that the super tasty Chicken, she was eating was duck. After that, we would head home and spend time with our Paternal Grandmother who would sleep over most Christmas’s. When we were little, it was an early bedtime so that we could wake up for Midnight Mass. It was super exciting when we were deemed old enough to stay up and we would spend the time painting our nails in ugly but very Christmassy colours and watching Carols by Candlelight and chatting with our Grandma before getting ready for church. Dressed in a frock and holding a candle (they eventually switched to a twist on electric candle when it seemed too much of a hazard to have half asleep kids with plenty of hairspray in hair to be holding actual flames during the entry procession when the baby Jesus was added to the manger). I always loved singing the hymns, but a Queensland Christmas Eve usually meant it was hot or rainy and humid, so being packed into a robe and told to hold a candle and sing didn’t appeal to me that much when aircon wasn’t even a consideration.

On the journey home from church, my Grandmother would point to a passing plane and pronounce “You’d better get to sleep quickly when we get home. Father Christmas is on the way, and he won’t stop by if you aren’t asleep.”

Christmas morning was always chaotic, which seems the usual for anyone with large families. We would be up early to unwrap presents and then off to breakfast with my mother’s side of the family (my Nan). After that, it was off to the Great Uncles place where we would meet up with my Grandma again. Grandad would be there as well with all the uncles and aunts, cousins and second cousins. I was always super excited to see my dad’s cousin, my Godmother.

When you have a large family, extras are never an issue. Friends of the family and neighbours were always welcome. The more the merrier. Packed into a lounge room and spilling into the kitchen, back stairs and front porch, the ceiling fan was doing nothing but moving the tinsel around. My Dad would invariably have to duck off to the shops to buy some milk (for some reason the adults could never cater for the family’s milk consumption during the day), and Santa would show up to distribute gifts to everyone.

After Santa had been and Dad had returned from the shops, without the milk he had gone for (poor forgetful Dad), we would sit down to a family lunch whilst being told by the adults that we had to wait until AFTER the family photo before the real fun would begin. My Great Uncles always being kids at heart, would be egging us on and getting a stern talking to from their sister-in-law that the fun came after the food.

Once the feast was devoured, we would trudge to a designated spot in the yard for a family photo. In my family, some are quite tall, and some are quite short, and the tallies never let the short ones forget that they are vertically challenged. I remember decorating a Besser block for my God Mother to stand on for the family photo one year so she could be taller in the annual photo. I remember covering it with stickers and presenting it to her proudly.

After the photo, which tended to include me squinting into the sun and always having an awkward look on my face, it was on. The annual family water fight. Boys Vs Girls, a match that had been started by my Dad’s generation when he only had two female cousins and a few girls amongst the next-door neighbours, so the numbers were very much uneven. As the next generation came in and everyone paired up, the numbers became more even. My uncle would have an inflatable pool and be dishing out buckets of ice water to the males, us girls would have been presented with super soakers while the boys got tiny water pistols. Anything to even the score. Running around throwing water bombs, grabbing the hose, and being ushered away from the older people who did not want to take part in the battle, I have a lot of memories of being soaking wet, with a smile from ear to ear.

Even though it could be tricky to keep track of everyone’s names, especially when you only saw them at Christmas time or special events like weddings, on the day it didn’t matter. We were all one big family, and any disagreements could be forgotten about.

Over time, the magic seemed to be worn away a little each year. Loved ones were lost, droughts set in and between that and the cost of water, the water fight is now a thing of the past. Everyone began to have other plans as their own families grew and spread out. For years I missed the simple joy of my childhood Christmas Days. Over time it has been replaced with new traditions with my new little family. Traditions may change, but the day doesn’t have to be any less special when we remember what it is really about.

Do you have any special memories of Christmas?