Christmas in our house is marked by familiarity. Certain things happen at certain points in advent.
Particular decorations always go up, we always have an advent candle on the table, the chocolates on the tree can't be eaten until christmas evening. etc.
There was one year though that stands out because everything was very different.
When I was eight we moved to the Falkland Islands for a year. I remember it as a huge adventure and Christmas was right at the centre of that.
Christmas that year happened in Summer. It was Falkland Island's summer so it wasn't particularly warm, however it did cause the chocolate snowmen to melt.
Christmas that year was spent in t-shirts with church friends rather than family, owing to how far away we were.
That was the christmas our two wild Falkland Island kittens decided to literally bathe in the Turkey fat and had to be washed over the sink that evening.
That was the Christmas of the dolls house. Looking back, I think Santa must have been very very organised that year to get presents shipped over in time. But he was and we were thankful. On Christmas morning we opened our stockings and then we were told there was one more present waiting in the conservatory.
There it was. A playmobil dolls house, all ready to be played with. Which Santa seemed to have had great fun setting up for us!
That was the Christmas where we headed to the military base to meet Santa and he sat in a khaki tent waiting to greet us.
Every Christmas of my childhood was magical, but the Christmas we spent on the other side of the world was something else...
I'm joining in (a day late!) with Sian's lovely meme, The Christmas Club. Do pop on over to her blog to indulge in the festive stories of bloggers around the world. I suggest heading there with a cup of tea and a big mince pie as I assure you you will be there awhile!