LOUISA SIMMONDS

Simplify | Delegate | Enjoy

I am the equivalent of a bridezilla at Christmas – Christzilla? I want everything on the day to be perfect – no doubt due to all sorts of unprocessed shit from my childhood that therapy hasn’t yet rectified. At Christmas time, I become a control freak, people-pleaser and perfectionist all wrapped up into the family’s seasonal psychopath.

My mum loved Christmas and then she died. At Christmas. But she lit the torch for the season. Even though we lived in social housing and didn’t have a penny to rub together, she made the best of what we had. My mission is to carry that torch for our future generations, even if carrying the physical and mental load goes completely against my feminist principles.

There is no place for Grinches at my Christmas table

In my house, this means dragging, kicking and screaming, the young adults in my family who have inherited the Grinch gene from my husband. And though I understand and respect why some people don’t like Christmas, my response to that attitude is not on my watch, and definitely not at my Christmas table. Hence, despite one kid who hates our traditional Christmas lunch – which I insist upon, even though most of the time it is effing-hot degrees in Sydney – and one who despises Christmas games, I refuse to back down.

Admittedly, the lead-up to the big day is stressful – I don’t deny that – however, the alternative for me is far too depressing.

Stress-levels usually start to rise in October at the meeting between my husband and I to agree the Christmas budget. Hot on the heels of this, is our negotiations as to when I am allowed to put up the tree – the earliest was November 1st during COVID. Present-buying and planning the menu are next – as in who brings what (I’m not a complete masochist) – followed by the organisation of Secret Santa, working out alcohol quantities (and then doubling my husband’s suggestions), and planning my Christmas table theme.

We are fortunate that we don’t have family members to consider/organise/appease because we deserted ours when we moved to the other side of the world. And I don’t get stressed out by the food. I divvy up the requirements and each of our guests is asked to bring a plate (or 3) as their contribution to our British traditional Christmas lunch – which is fundamentally a glorified roast, so I’m hardly creating a culinary masterpiece.

Neverthess, I do need an itinerary and timeline for any chance of the day running smoothly, especially when it is tradition here to fit in an ocean swim sometime during the morning chaos – weather permitting. Admittedly, it is usually only as the sweet aroma of stuffing fills the kitchen that I run through my itinerary one last time for anything I’ve overlooked. Is the Champagne cold? Did I buy the Brandy for the pudding – a massive fail last year – and what are the chances of me poisoning my guests with undercooked turkey or over-ripe French cheese? My ultimate fear – has everyone been designated a SS gift? But the best-laid plans and all that.

Much of the pressure is caused by my own ridiculous expectations

So here are my top tips to survive the stress of the big day!

1. Plan ahead – Sounds obvious, but anyone who has been shopping on Christmas Eve knows that not everyone puts enough thought into this. I plan everything ahead from my outfit, timing and table decor to buying seasonal ingredients early – because supermarkets often run out of red cabbage and sauces several days before.
2. Manage your expectations – Define your priorities for the day and play to your strengths. I am a good planner, but I couldn’t orchestrate the type of Christmas lunch I want without support – especially after a few breakfast Mimosas. Our guests contribute, and luckily for me my husband excels at clearing up.
3. Simplify where possible – Cheat where you can. For example, cooking a whole bird would freak me the for the reasons above, so I buy a turkey crown or equivalent to reduce the risk – one of the reasons we haven’t committed to an Aussie lunch are my fears around prawns and oysters sitting in the sun. Let’s be honest, most people don’t like turkey anyway. Use whatever shortcuts are available to you. Organise the Secret Santa with an agreed budget so no one is under financial pressure and you can have more fun with the presents. If someone has a food allergy, ask them to provide what they want to eat unless it can be heated in the microwave a few minutes before dishing up.
4. Delegate – With a little organisation, there’s no reason for one person to carry the load. Assign jobs to everyone. For example, I put someone on appetisers to give me time to get ready, Most guests want to contribute, rather than stand around on such a big day looking like a spare part.
5. Relinquish control – Enforcing rules or embargos on topics of conversation creates stress so assume that most people want to have a good time and will respect the opinions of others.
6. Impose personal boundaries – Don’t try to fit in too much and know your triggers. Create a private risk management plan if that helps. E.g. If you are worried about Uncle X who drinks too quickly and then gets passive-aggressive, leave spirits off the table. If the morning swim is likely to throw out your timeline, stay back.
7. Enjoy the day – Even if everything doesn’t go to plan, remember that if your priority was to get the people you love together to reconnect and all of you laughed when one of them choked on a Brussel sprout, that’s a win?

Is the stress worth it?

For me, yes. Because despite the extra cost of the day – and it is entirely possible not to overspend – and the extra labour involved, this celebration brings our small community together. It is a time for us to reflect on the year before, talk about our plans for the new year, and to acknowledge gratitude for what we have.

It’s easy to get caught up in the hype

Admittedly, it’s easy to get caught up in the hype, and I’m one of those hypocrites who preaches about waste for the rest of the year but still searches high and low for perfectly coordinating wrapping paper.

But for those of us lucky enough to have family and friends who choose to remain in our lives, it is a few hours when we can put our troubles to one side and enjoy a brief moment of togetherness.

Of course, I’ll bite my lip when my husband decides to blow the garden leaves half an hour before our guests arrive, clean out the cat litter or catch the latest golf highlights. And I will count to ten each time the word “entitled” crosses my mind when I catch my adult kids on their phones while I am working my ass off in the kitchen. But I try to laugh when I’ve forgotten something that only a few weeks before I considered vital – gravy and cream are my speciality – and I remind myself that reconnection was my priority, rather than the quality of the food.