It is an odd sort of lead up. Queues for COVID-19 testing stretch longer than those at shopping centres and there is a pervasive sense of panic in the air.

We avoid most of it, partially due to our wisely-timed pre-Christmas escape, and also given that we end up being excluded from retail until the final frantic weeks.

But the excitement of the kids is palpable, starting with the chocolate countdown in their Advent calendars, and building exponentially to the big day. There are updates to present lists, exclamations of delight when they choose sibling gifts and constant updates as to how many sleeps are left.

There is one sensitive issue to navigate, regarding our attendance on Christmas Day with one side of the family. Unfortunately, with significant medical issues complicating the health of some, the overprotective urge is in full force (despite the reality that one’s vaccination status carries exceedingly little weight now in terms of transmissibility or so-called protection), meaning that we end up being asked not to attend. It is a perplexing and disappointing situation, but we decide to make the most of the celebrations we are able to enjoy.

Food is at the core of our Christmas experience and I spend two solid days in the kitchen feverishly whipping up dishes – tiramisu, chocolate peanut butter cups, cherry cake, spinach and feta pie, slow-cooked lamb, pearl couscous and pumpkin salad and eggnog. The scents and aromas whirl throughout the house and there are plenty of volunteers to lick the bowls.

The fun starts on the morning of Christmas Eve, with the sibling present exchange. Then, in the afternoon, it’s off to Ringwood East, with the car piled to the brim with goodies. It is a beautiful day and we all instantly relax, grazing upon delicious antipasto and cheeses, appreciating the kids’ contagious excitement and placing last minute touches to dishes. There are countless family photos (another tradition) and a precarious construction to prop up the phone so that we are all included in the shot.

Our Christmas dinner is a rich mix of a cultures – a nod to our English forefathers with beef wellington, flavours of Poland (three different kinds of pierogi with bacon and sour cream), tastes of childhood (chicken and turkey in puff pastry), a Melbourne touch (lamb), fresh salads (pomegranate & pumpkin, chicken & apricot, couscous, coleslaw), homemade bread and garlic bread, thick and hearty gravy. Our plates are loaded and the table groans under the weight of both the food and our appreciation.

Before long, it’s present time and the living room is awhirl with delight and torn wrapping paper. My youngest sister is the ideal ‘Santa’, handing out gifts with egalitarian precision and an appropriate amount of merriment and cheer. She adores Christmas and takes gift-giving very seriously, always amazing us all with her generosity and thoughtful choice of items.

We regroup for dessert as sweet treats appear, as if by magic. Fresh berries adorn the pillows of cream atop the homemade pavlova, traditional Christmas pudding is warmed in a lake of custard, rich bites of chocolate filled with nut butters, an espresso-loaded tiramisu and plenty of foil-wrapped chocolates on the side. We all but stagger from the table when we are done.

Then, it’s time for our magical nightwalk – adorned with glowsticks, we traipse down the drive, over the low wire fence (lifting the pram precariously) and into the forest. Fairylights sparkle through the trees and multi-coloured displays light up houses with inviting warmth. Eventually, we wind our way through the crowds to the best one of all – every inch draped in lights and a whirring snow machine scattering foamy ‘icicles’ onto the outstretched arms of wide-eyed children.

Tired children beg to be carried on the journey home, happily content to be tucked between sheets and surrender to dreamland – their empty stockings draped at the foot of each bed. The older children take longer to succumb, but we clink glasses of eggnog downstairs and fight over the massage chair while talking and laughing far into the night.

The next morning dawns bright and early, with whispering children tip-toeing from bed to bed to see if everyone has received their goodies. Sacks are hauled into our room and the room is awash with chaos and happiness as items are pulled out and examined. Eyes light up with excitement and kids disappear into corners and other worlds to play with their newfound toys.

Brunch is one of our annual highlights and soon the kitchen is buzzing with the happy noise of preparation. Arms are given a workout squeezing fresh orange juice, the savoury aroma of egg and bacon quiches wafts through the house. The table is set and fresh fruit laid out, along with Polish poppy seed cake (Makowiec), Baba’s cherry cake, chia pudding, homemade bread, spinach and feta pie and coffee. It is, in a word, delicious.

With no where to rush off to, we laze around, enjoying the merriment until it is time to gather our belongings and head over to our place for the next instalment of fun. Platters of food make their way between houses and tired children regain their energy when faced with the pool.

We take the time to relax in the spa and enjoy conversation, before regrouping for a very late lunch. It is blissfully easy and enjoyable, being able to savour the tastes of Christmas for a second time. We play Azul (a Portuguese tile board game) under the whirring blades of a patrolling helicopter and the day slips into night before we quite realise. Waving farewell to all, we finally collapse in happy exhaustion.

It has been a wonderful Christmas, once again.