When people ask what I’m doing for Christmas this year, I’ve been replying, with not a little bit of glee, that we are “going nowhere and entertaining nobody”. The almost universal reaction is one of wistfulness, if not envy.
Taking the pressure off the festive season and choosing to please only yourselves is something many people fantasise about. Some people feel so hamstrung by responsibility to others (and dare I say it, perhaps are so used to that well-established feeling of Christmas martyrdom) that they never get the Christmas they secretly want.
Thankfully, my husband and I have no such qualms, and for our son’s third Christmas, we’ve decided to do what makes him happy and have it just the three of us. For his first, we hosted my mum, and his second was spent in my husband’s home town at a huge gathering of grandparents, aunties and cousins. Both were lovely, if not entirely stress-free. During the first Christmas, no one was sleeping; during the second, which included a potluck for which I made two massive nut roasts for more than 25 people, only my son was: outside in the pram, being pushed by me, while the food was being served. My sister-in-law took a photo of me through the window: I am standing in the rain, parka over my nice dress, holding a flute of champagne. “I know it’s not funny now, but you’ll laugh at this one day,” she said, and she was right, I did. Eventually.
Despite the challenges of parenting a small child, I have wonderful memories from these Christmases, and we are still seeing loved ones over the festive period, just not all in one go. In a way, this makes it easier. I know some people are heavily invested in everything being on the 25 December, but it’s never been that way in my family, and there’s something about a movable feast that makes everything a bit looser and more relaxed. My son got to see his paternal grandparents earlier in December, thus skipping the hell of train travel over the Christmas period (I’m still haunted by our return journey via Coventry last year, which was spent in a vestibule), and celebrated with his nonna on the solstice. This spreads out the relatives and makes it less overwhelming for our toddler.
I know not everyone’s family are as understanding as ours, who have been happy with this arrangement. My dad, in particular, was almost insistent that we do our own thing and see him, my stepmum and my brothers at a quieter time – perhaps remembering his own days parenting young children, and the tug-of-war between the grandparents, which would have involved driving to opposite ends of the country. Like me, he thinks it’s important to create your own traditions within your smaller family unit, and over the past few years we have started to do that. That 2020 Covid Christmas, while incredibly sad at times, in a funny way gave us – and I imagine many others – the breathing space we needed to think about how we wanted to celebrate on our own terms: such as what we ate and drank, what the day’s timings would be, and what we most wanted to get out of it.
Our traditions have evolved quite organically, and are mostly to do with food. On Christmas Eve, we have a huge glazed ham alongside a range of salads. My husband will make Diana Henry’s winter panzanella, alongside something like a halloumi, orange and green bean salad and Ottolenghi’s squash recipe from Jerusalem.
On Christmas Day, after my not-entirely-sane husband plunges himself into freezing cold water, we will eat a bird that isn’t turkey, usually duck breast, and often far later than planned. The next day, we chop up the ham and use it to make our Boxing Day carbonara, an invention of my mother’s that has become a mainstay. In between we drink martinis, listen to carols, watch telly and dance to the Ella & Louis Christmas album, which, incidentally, includes the best version of Baby, It’s Cold Outside (far from being a sexual harassment anthem, it’s really a 1940s in-joke about how much two people want to shag each other, as the audience laughter and knowing ad-libs make abundantly clear). Dancing with my son and seeing his sheer, uncontrollable excitement at the sight of the Christmas tree has already got me in the spirit.
There is, of course, a part of me that will miss what I have come to think of as the “Euston sprint” from concourse to platform, stumbling through a morass of harassed northerners, blue Ikea bags overflowing with presents, and small children. But not that much. Hardest of all will be not having a G&T with my mum during Nine Lessons and Carols on Christmas Eve. Whether we are together or apart, I always raise a glass to her, and I’ll cherish it all the more the next time we spend it together.
This time of year can be stressful, and so often we find ourselves staggering towards the day exhausted and overwhelmed. However you’re spending it, and even if you have obligations that are harder to negotiate than ours, I hope you find a moment this festive season to do something for yourself. It’s wonderful giving joy to others, but never at the complete expense of your own sanity.
