It's that time of the year again....

.... when everything is so damn jolly. Ever since I stopped being a kid with greasy hair and pimples, Christmas just hasn't been the same. Here's what it used to be like.

In Finland, Christmas is celebrated on the 24th. The 25th you just lay back and look at the huge pile of presents you opened the day before and try to figure out how to deal with the weird bulge on your mid torso that somehow just showed up sometime between meal time yesterday and this morning.

So on the 24th, I would get up nice and early (6.30 am), wake up daddy-o as well so he would take me to the stables. Why? Because for about 10 years I used to go to the stables every single day to take care of the horsies. It was almost like a job, only I didn't get paid. Unless you count the fact that you gained a great sense of responsibility and respect for animals. Do you count that? Yes you do.

So anyway, daddy-o would take me and my friends to the stables, where we would prepare the horses and take off to a magical Christmas ride. The tradition was to ride to town and wish everybody happy holidays as we went along. A tradition loved not only by us, but also by the villagers who gathered around to greet us. The only thing that sometimes annoyed me was that I always rode a pony, and people thought it was a foal. "Look mommy, it's a child-horse".  Amateurs...

So after we had made our merry wishes and galloped back to the stables, we decorated the stables with straw and other stuff and fed the horsies lots of goodies. A quick call to daddy-o who flew over to take us home, not just me but all of my ten friends who packed inside our little car.

Once home it was time for the porridge with the almond. Mom would prepare this rice porridge while I was off riding small child-horses, and she would hide an almond in it. Who ever got the almond would make a Christmas wish. Just to be safe, mom hid like a dozen almonds into the porridge and made everybody wait until I had discovered one and this way made sure I was the one making the wish. I always wished that mom would get the almond next year.

Once the porridge was eaten, it was time to bring in the Christmas tree. A real one, from the forest that once belonged to my grandparents. It always had a crooked top, and mom would complain about it. Dad would help me set up the lights (which were the same ones my parents had bought 30 years ago) and after I got to decorate the whole thing. The outcome was always more personal than pretty, but always appreciated by all.

Next thing on the program was to visit the dead. A.k.a my grandparents, at the graveyard. Ok, cemetery. My sister didn't want to go because "it's the graveyard, it's full of dead people", but I always kinda enjoyed the slightly dim winter day and all the hundreds of candles twinkling on the gloomy graves. There was always something very scary and at the same time comforting about the trip to see grandpa and grandma.

After arriving back home, it was sauna and then Christmas dinner with ham and salmon. I always ate too much ham before we started the actual dinner, and in the end I didn't really feel like eating it anymore. And yet I did. Because it was Christmas.

After letting the tummy relax a little it was time to open the presents. No silly Santa Claus-games, when suddenly dad disappears and then, what do you know, here's Santa with the presents I just saw in the closet 5 minutes ago. No no, mom just laid the big sack full of presents under the tree while I was in the sauna, and said that Santa paid a visit while I was bathing. Since there was no Santa, I dealt out the presents to everyone. Those days I had actually made wishes and usually some of them came true. I wasn't showered with gifts like many other kids, but never felt like I was left without either. I got just enough to feel special. Of course I had bought something useless for my parents, which they had to keep for the next couple of months until passing it on to someone else.

On Christmas day, like explained before, you just sat there, eating chocolates and watching cartoons. No need to go anywhere or see anyone other than your family, and especially no need to put on real clothes. Better stay in your jammies anyway, it took a couple of days to fit that tummy in those jeans again.

This was Christmas back in the day. Somehow it just kept on getting sadder and sadder every year. Now it's all about not getting presents since we're all grown up, the horsies are left without their decorations, usually it rains when we go to the cemetery, I only eat a little bit of ham because otherwise I might get fat, and the biggest excitement for me seems to be finding out if AirBerlin takes me home in time or if they leave me somewhere in Central Europe like last year.

Or maybe it's just me. Maybe I'm getting boring and old. Maybe it's time to take out the red elf's hat again and dance around the Christmas tree (although you can't because it's too close to the wall). Maybe it's time to eat ham until you barf. Maybe it's just time to realize that the most important thing is to be together, as a family. To see everybody there, and know that they're all doing well, and for one night nothing's troubling us.

Maybe. Go on, give it a go. I know I will.

Santa's little helper