23 December. I am grateful for an african christmas. A tree that links so many of us, and for one seriously talented sister in law.
My mom and dad just celebrated 50 years of marriage, my father just turned 75, I am 46, my elder brother 48 and my baby sister 42. We are all blessed with wonderful partners and daughters, we have forged our own way in this sometimes challenging but always wonderful world. Being together for Christmas is always a highlight, especially as we are all spread far and wide. So, why is it that within less than a day, we revert to our familial role? I become the cheeky opinionated outspoken controlling quite emotional and actually quite insecure middle child, my big brother lovingly puts me in my place with a slightly superior smirk, which just pisses me off, my mother puffs out of frustration and my dad gently keeps the peace. My baby sister chuckles quietly from the safety of Oz. Don’t get me wrong, I love it. Feeling safe enough to just be less than perfect. I love being loved no matter what. I love that no matter how old I am, it seems I am always someones daughter, someones sister and secure in the knowledge that no matter how hard I make it to love me, they do. It is a rare gift. I hope one day I get to spend christmas with my daughters and their partners and their families, seeing how much they’ve grown but knowing at heart they are still our little girls. But also not.