Strangest of traditions
As you’re reading this I’m probably drinking eggnog by the fire, singing Christmas carols as snow falls outside... jokes, more likely I’m out back in the kiddie pool, swatting flies and eating pavlova. Christmas Eve is actually pretty stereotypical for us; the fam bundles into the Tarago and off we go to church. My nieces participate in the nativity play just as I did when I was a kid (once I had the privilege of playing the donkey and my sister, as Mary, insisted she was allowed to sit on me) and we sing along to the religious kind of Christmas carols which unfortunately don’t include ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’. Christmas Day is when it gets fun... even though I’m 28 Santa still stuffs my stocking (mostly undies and socks), but there is always some kind of toy weapon; one year a potato gun, another a nerf rocket and the best yet a flying slingshot monkey that screamed while he zoomed through the air. Often we have no idea what the contraption is so Mum’s always on hand to demonstrate. What you have to understand is my mum is a very composed woman... with the exception of Christmas Day. Mum turns manic and the lounge room becomes a war zone with us hiding behind furniture and Mum cackling in the centre of the room, armed and dangerous. Once a treaty is agreed upon and weapons lowered, the rest of the day is pretty standard; we open pressies, eat chocolate for breakfast, have a big family lunch followed by a food-coma nap, play with the kids toys in the arvo, welcome visits from relatives, pick at leftovers for dinner and head to bed with smiles on our faces.