"If you don't get a job, Loren, no worries, just get busy and make some babies."

"Emma, you need to stop wasting your life! Go back to work and use your education!"

Family. Where else can you find such an endless source of conflicting and unhelpful advice?

I've just returned from a last minute trip to Sydney where we celebrated Baba's 80th birthday. After our trek up there for the wedding in October it was decided (by Baba) that it would be best if we all didn't come up again so soon, given the considerable effort it takes to lug a family of five over the border. Then, a few days before the event, Dave started making suggestions. "Why don't you just fly up with your family?" At first I didn't give the idea any consideration, particularly in light of the fact that I would have just returned from a spa getaway a few days prior, it didn't seem fair to land Dave with the kids for three nights while I was off on another jaunt.

But he was insistent, so I did.

Being reunited with just my immediate family (plus Artur) was decidedly odd and very familiar. My day to day reality is so completely different that to just play the role of daughter and sister again felt like picking up a bag that you expected to weigh a tonne and finding it weightless instead. I was chauffeured around, train tickets paid for, plane tickets organised, cooked for and fussed over. My sisters and I fell back into an easy banter and the family dynamics of repetitive jokes that set off a Mexican wave of laughter returned. At one point each member of the family was visibly twitching on the train to provoke a frustrated Hali as she earnestly tried to explain the new gaming phenomenon.

The old fights returned also, with Loren and I getting into a doozy after I reacted against her clear condescension in an argument. It didn't last long, thankfully and we have agreed to disagree once again.

We acted like kids, challenging each other to reckless trolley races around the streets of Cabramatta, playing rivalrous games of Trouble, Gin Rummy and Candy Cane. At one point we were all lounging in Mum and Dad's room, Loren and Hali draped over the bed, reading out Reddit stories about amusing pets. For a moment it was like time had circled back once again.

The time warp that is my grandparents' house was slightly altered this time, thanks to the recent storm that swept through Cabramatta, slaying the Foxtel connections of every house on the street. Without his safety net, Deda was decidedly more social- sharing memories from his childhood (he was a tank driver in Slovenia), provoking many religious debates (he is a staunch atheist) and giving each of us lectures on how we should make decisions.

Usually, I clash so violently with Deda (in a passive-aggressive sense) and end up leaving the house completely undone. As a person devoted to pleasing others (particularly authority figures) the lack of straightforward paths to acceptance absolutely kills me and I just feel completely destabilised. A few visits ago, in the midst of the dark hole that was Hudson's first year, the relentless (and contradictory) criticism of my parenting ("You are too soft on them!"... "They need some more discipline!") left me shredded, so much so that I refused to even share a car ride to the station with Deda and walked sobbing all the way there instead.

This time, however, the recent discoveries about my identity provided a good foundation for the emotional onslaught and I refused to fall into the familiar trap of helplessly defending myself. Instead, I turned the focus back onto Deda and asked if the fount of all wisdom concerning meaning and happiness was in fact happy himself? "No." was the immediate answer.

"Have you ever been happy?"
"Yes... when I was working as an electrician full time and then working on the flats that we owned every night".

That was twenty-five years ago.

I've just finished 'A Spool of Blue Thread' (Anne Tyler). It is a tale of family, expectations, generational links and repetition, clashes and the importance of location as the backdrop of the entire story.

Really, at the heart of it, every family shares so much similarity in the way conflict is raised and buried, the roles that people play and are expected to adhere to and the wistfulness of the aging as they watch everything slipping out of their hands. Baba is convinced, with a tinge of desperation, that her fortnightly feasts prepared for her son and grandchildren are the only thing propping them up.

She needs to be needed.

Deda is horrified that the university education he demanded that we pursue has not resulted in a wholesale rejection of spirituality as his entire worldview ('only stupid, emotional people think that religion is worthwhile') is at risk of being shattered.

The young, idealistic versions of themselves are trapped deep inside as they are relegated to figureheads of the family, caricatures that sit back and smile, hollowly, as their family mingles around them.

Aging can be a brutal, destabilising process. Particularly when you are so intent on gripping onto the threads of those around you and yanking them into your own ideals of character and ambition. When you try with all your might to suppress certain qualities in the next generation, only to witness them in raging bloom even before your grasp is loosened. I've been convicted about my own 'designs' on my children and attempts to mould them beyond basic pursuit of values and virtues.

And yet, where else can you witness the legacy that is passed down through family? The ordered, methodical way that Baba approaches the preparation and clean up of every meal is eerily similar when I look at my own habits (and those of my parents). Deda's stubborn passion for knowledge, history and truth oozes out of myself and my sisters, albeit in slightly different ways. Expression of love through food and hospitality, methodical tending of a garden, devotion to tireless work, a sense of achievement in personal efforts.... this yarn is woven into our stories and will no doubt continue to exhibit in generations to come.

The walls of the retro home are lined with tapestries. Lovingly and painstakingly created by Baba during an era where her fingers were uncurled and agile. A young girl sorrowfully collecting sticks in the snow, couples of French nobility coquettishly flirting by a calm lake, deer watchfully grazing in the forest. These scenes speak of a wistful life, a woman torn from her homeland by the duty to her family. A woman seeking to create colour and life where little existed.

The brash advice that is so liberally dealt out undoubtedly arises from Baba's fears of this harsh world and her fierce love for all her offspring. Eighty years on and she has undoubtedly left a significant legacy already- her recipes unchanging- bringing us together over schnitzel, chicken lasagna, jelly cake, fried potatoes, beef goulash, cherry cake and countless other favourites. There is a moment, when everyone is enthusiastically dishing out large helpings, where she pauses with the corner of her mouth upturned in a slight smile and surveys her family.... and she is happy.

Family. It's a shifting, confounding, incredible, frustrating and miraculous masterpiece.

Turns out that planning a birthday party for an enthusiastic almost three-year-old is a pretty rewarding endeavour.

Initially I had limited enthusiasm and motivation for Hudson's party, given the proximity of the event to Christmas, the relentless heat, and the lack of fixed inspiration for a theme of any sort from the birthday boy himself. The only 'theme' Hudson appears to be attached to in the everyday is as follows: (1) Anything that is in Dave's hands and (2) Technology of any kind. When I repeatedly tried to nail down an idea to center the party around, Hudson told me serenely that he just wanted 'sandwiches'. In the end I 'led the witness' into a fire engine motif, admittedly more for my passion and focus more than anything!

As the big day drew closer Hudson displayed an enormous amount of gratitude and appreciation anytime he spied me doing anything party-related. "Thank you for making the jelly for my party, Mum!" "I love you, Mum!" "Woo hoo" (with both small fists raised enthusiastically in the air).

When I plan a party, my mind goes into hyper mode for the entire preceding week. Every day I add to my list tasks that build towards the event, even planning dinners so that I can make double for the occasion. Dave, on the other hand, seems blissfully unaware that there is any impending event until approximately 24 hours prior, when he predictably does an emergency shopping run, suddenly convinced that I have underestimated the quantities of food required to feed the anticipated number and comes home with armfuls of chips, snacks, soft drink and chocolate 'just in case'. I secretly love this turning point (even though we always end up with oodles of leftovers) because it means the party has turned from 'mine' to 'ours'. Dave then motors around the house, moving furniture, blowing up balloons, planning party games and keeping the kids entertained so I can cater in peace. It's a rhythm that plays without us even having to discuss it, given the sheer number of events we have hosted in our home now.

I've never been brave enough to try using fondant before, and let's just say it isn't my spiritual gifting. Pretty much anything that requires precision, patience and mathematical estimations of any kind is not even close to my ball park. Thank goodness for licorice and buttercream icing to mask the construction failures and for little boy's eyes that light up at the reality of a fire engine cake, no matter how shoddy the design! As I was piecing the vehicle together I asked Dave for feedback... "Hmmm,.... It's not really straight, is it?.... but I guess that's what you are going for." Thanks Dave.

The morning of, Hudson came bursting into our room without even mentioning that the owl was green (the ingenious invention that requires him to stay in his bed until the owl's face changes colour at 7:00am), simply exclaiming, "It's my BIRTHDAY, everyone! I'm 'hweee'!!!" Eli was a little dubious in light of the fact that this event was unlikely to produce any gifts for him, though he did get more than his fair share of playing with the newly acquired loot due to Hudson's limited interest in toys of any kind. Dave and I took a gamble and gifted Hudson a real 'kid-sized' guitar, assuming that 'if Daddy has one' it might take. So far, so good.

I tried to keep the food simple this time, unsure of how the weather would play into the event, and wanting to be able to avoid oven usage if the day was sweltering. To cater to Hudson's emphatic request for sandwiches, I made Tuna & Pickle, and Chicken & Cucumber. For the main meal I went with barbecued meats (sausages, honey soy chicken legs, Moroccan marinated prawn skewers) and salads (a pear & walnut salad, a chicken & sweet potato creation of Mum's, and a tasty Mediterranean couscous offering from Monica). That morning I discovered our ears of corn were more than ready to be harvested, so I added to the menu oven roasted husks along with baked sweet potato. Dessert was a Raspberry Trifle with brandy soaked Madeira cake and home-grown strawberries, along with red jelly shots and loads of fresh fruit. There was also some Pine Lime Rum Punch which my Dad ended up sampling liberally, unaware it was alcoholic! My bad. Mum had to drive home that night.

Hudson's impassioned request for his party was that he would be able to use a real microphone and be the 'emcee' of the event. The excitement in his eyes was palpable as he swayed from side to side, burying the instrument in his lips, looking from face to face of his captive audience as he sung songs and singled out people to sit down and listen to him: "We're starting, everybody! Welcome to my party!"

There is always a moment, mid-party, where I look up, face flushed from the oven or from hauling platters out of the refrigerator, and I 'see' it. People in animated conversation, groups clustered around the bench sampling antipasto and drinking wine, kids shrieking with delight and running half-naked on the deck, laughter, excitement, fun, family and dear friends all connected together and forming memories for years to come. Yes, putting on a party for every birthday is a significant effort and Dave and I inevitably collapse into bed after the last crumb is vaccuumed up and the furniture returned to our usual living arrangements. But the privilege of creating that moment and seeing the unrestrained joy in Hudson's eyes as the anticipation grew, that is so unbelievably worth it!

Tonight as I was tucking him into bed, Hudson looked up at me with a serious expression.

"Mum,... it's not my birthday today."
"Yes, that's true, it was your birthday yesterday, wasn't it?"
"Mum... I want to have a birthday again!"

I know what you mean, buddy.
....

Dear Hudson, 

You are a whirlwind, vivid and fast, passionate and emotional. 

You know what you want and you aren't afraid to go for it. 

I love just watching you. When you stand close to your Daddy, by his side, always asking to be his helper, wanting to be a part of our 'grown up' lives already. 

You gravitate towards people, exuding life, light and joy. 

My heart melts when I see you ask your brother if he is okay in your sweet voice, tilting your head down and to the side as you gaze in deep concern at him. 

I love it when you get excited about something, your whole body can't even contain the energy and you do a little leap into the air with both fists above your head. 

You are hilarious in your attachment to technology, successfully pick-pocketing many a hapless victim as you turn on the charm while patting them down to find out where their phone is secreted. "Where's your phone, Mummy?" is probably one of the most common questions I field from you! And "I'm just, just... working!" is your inevitable frustrated response when I find you quietly hidden in a corner, having located Daddy's computer, usually by climbing precariously to get it. 

Your passion for 'Open House Kids' is endearing. It is one of your main topics of conversation, even to people who have no idea what it is. You speak about helping to set up for the gathering almost daily, and are devastated when it isn't your turn to go with Daddy. 

Words can't even come close to describing my love for you, my son. You have changed our lives in your three short years and I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm so excited to see how your strengths and passions develop as you journey through this life. Thank you for being Hudson. There truly is no one like you. 

Love Mum

Up until this point, Christmases with kids haven't been that great. Mismatched expectations, being heavily pregnant (on half of the occasions), and herding overwhelmed and tired children in crowded houses just didn't really lend itself to experiences of peace, hope and joy. 

This year, somehow, it just worked.

 

My 'baking gifts' were pared back from four types of Christmas goodies, to a half hour (slightly burnt) batch of salted caramel popcorn. The present shopping was mostly done online or in local (and quieter) locations. We ditched the traditional roast menu in favour of a salad, cold meat and seafood alternative. Our presents to the kids were sparingly dealt out over a 'Twelve Days of Christmas' attempt, which had each child take it in turns to receive a gift (or part thereof in Hudson's case as we gifted each piece of his kitchen appliance set separately over the period). We chose low key hangouts with friends over a frenzy of cleaning, preparing and setting up at home. In short, we 'did' a lot less and shook off much of the previous (self-imposed) pressures.

Not that it was necessarily any quieter.

On the weekend before Christmas we worked with neighbours to set up a Street Party, and then had our Open House Christmas Party on the very next day. The Street Party had the misfortune of coinciding with a 38 degree scorcher, which saw a lot of the people who had planned to attend drop out. Surprisingly, the intensity of the weather actually brought the people who did show up together much more effectively than any milder alternative, as we all ended up running around like lunatics in the midst of a massive water fight, spraying and shooting people we had met only moments before! The water fight's grand finale was a torrential drenching from above which saw everyone huddling in the park's only (tiny) shelter, awkwardly laughing at the absurdity of the experience. Eli was right in the middle of getting his face painted as 'The Hulk' and relished the newfound audience, jumping off the chair deep in character and growling at all who looked in his direction.

The Open House 'Inside Out' themed party was just as epic, with an amazing turnout from our community and extended networks and a solid showing from the Finglish to English group as well. For the last year Open House has been connecting with a group of Persian refugees, most of whom arrived by boat and have struggled to assimilate and learn the language with the (thankfully recently overturned) prohibition on working which effectively closeted them in their own enclaves with little to look forward to or focus on. For some of these guys, our invitations to picnics or barbeques have been the first of such since they have arrived in our country. The addition to our community has been incredible- the Persians are so generous, fun-loving, helpful and kind, lavishing attention on the children and relishing the opportunity to teach them how to take 'selfies'! (Though, let's be honest, in Hudson's case he didn't need much instruction.) The whole emphasis of the Christmas party was a good excuse to learn more of their stories, discover more about the Persian culture and fundraise so that courses and education can be funded and so that the Finglish to English lessons can be more inclusive and meal-driven next year. Dave, Naomi and Dwain did a fantastic job dressing up as 'Anger', 'Joy' and 'Sadness' and the whole event had such a festive, fun-filled vibe.

As for our family Christmas experience, it was surprisingly relaxing.

We hosted the Christmas Eve celebrations and Mum came well equipped with ten water pistols for an epic battle. Even Ivy participated, though mostly in the receiving sense, as she hovered by the little pool and got happily drenched by all the crossfire. Thankfully we had the good sense to take the family photo before this exchange, as we all stumbled inside looking rather bedraggled. The feast was spectacular, with Greek Lamb Salad, Chicken and Apricot Salad, Chicken and Beetroot Salad, Pear and Baby Spinach Salad, Chargrilled Prawns, Turkish Garlic Bread, Mango and Quinoa Salad and a selection of cold meats with gravy. We stayed traditional with the Pudding for dessert but Loren made her Walnut Cream Cake which was a worthy addition. There were no meltdowns or tantrums this year, and Eli played his role as the Elf to perfection, handing out gifts, picking up rubbish and giving instructions as to when the recipients were allowed to tear off the wrapping. After the kids conked out, we upped the hilarity with a few rounds of Family Feud, which will have Dad forever known as the 'Baby Snatcher' after an unfortunate confusion of idioms whilst crowing at a recent win ("like snatching a baby from.... oh, hang on..."). A round of 'Jay's Balls' in front of the Carols was a perfect way to wind down the evening.

Christmas morning saw the kids sleeping in... for an extra ten minutes... and then the whirlwind began. Presents were unwrapped, balance bikes put together, pajamas hastily packed, salads thrown into the esky, as we eventually made it out the door to Mum and Dad's for a delectable brunch. Fresh fruit, Burek, homemade Stollen, Creme Brulee, Pancakes, Egg and Bacon bites... it was all delicious!

Afterwards, it was off to the Hughes side of the family for a Traditional Roast lunch. Pat and John outdid themselves with the feast, and we had a lot of fun laughing and reminiscing at the long table. Though tragically, a nasty stomach bug felled Nathan and Julie at the last minute and they were unable to join the celebrations. The water pistols made another appearance and the myriad of presents were redistributed to their new owners. After a relaxed dinner of salads and cold meats, a bounty of desserts (Pavlova, Gingerbread House, Candy Cane Cookies, Truffles) we hauled the kids home to bed. What a day!

 

I love Christmas, though I love it a lot more when I completely relax my expectations and move with the experience. So often in the past I have become stuck in a picture of how I thought the day 'should go' and miss out on the magic that was happening instead. The days weren't perfect- kids still fought over sharing, annoyingly turned lights on and off, I got Dave completely lame (but pratical!) gifts compared to his abundance for me, Hudson suddenly needed lots and lots of cuddles and Ivy spent a fair amount of time attached to me in temporary shyness- but I didn't have any artificial construction in my mind to compare the experience to, so it came pretty damn close.