Seven kids, one house, & enough holiday chaos to power a Hallmark movie marathon.
Christmas was never a quiet affair in our house. With seven kids—yes, SEVEN—chaos was practically the eighth member of the family. As the middle child, I often found myself in the eye of the storm, observing the madness around me and occasionally adding to it for good measure. Christmas was, quite simply, an explosion of noise, food, and the kind of family antics that would make even the most festive Hallmark movie look tame.
Taxi driver by day, Christmas Elf by night—Dad’s marathon shifts put Santa to shame
Let me start with my dad. He ran his own taxi business, which meant he worked harder than Santa himself. From school drop-offs to ferrying the nightlife crowd around until the wee hours of the morning, he was always on the go. I honestly don’t know how he managed it, especially during Christmas when the demands skyrocketed. Just thinking about his schedule makes me want to lie down, and I don’t even have kids to add to the mix. Yet there he was, every year, somehow making magic happen under the tree.
The magic, of course, wasn’t without its stress. My siblings and I, ever the curious
(read: nosy) lot, would go on covert missions to find the hidden gifts. We were like the FBI, except our motives were far less noble. It wasn’t about ruining the surprise; it was more about managing our expectations. If disappointment was lurking, better to face it head-on than let it ambush us on Christmas morning. But let’s be honest: our real motivation was the thrill of the hunt. Sneaking around the house, trying not to get caught—it was practically a sport and on some occasions we became spider monkeys to mums upper bedroom cabinets. And if you think my mum’s attempts to tape shut the Christmas treats deterred us, let me assure you: they did not. Modern parents, take note. Gorilla Glue might be your only hope. It’s not Christmas without at least one child ‘accidentally’ opening a closet they were definitely told to stay out of.
Mum’s kitchen: where ‘DO NOT TOUCH’ signs became our ultimate childhood challenge.
Speaking of my mum, she was the true architect of the Christmas feast as I have said in a previous blog story. The kitchen became her war room, and she was the general commanding an army of meats, sweets, and baked goods. Everything was taped up, hidden away, or marked with “DO NOT TOUCH,” which, to us kids, translated directly to “Challenge Accepted.” The spread she orchestrated was the stuff of legends. Stockings filled with chocolate bars, tins of fancy biscuits, and high-end chocolates that could make even Willy Wonka weep. Looking back, I don’t think I’ve had a Christmas quite like those since becoming an adult. Sure, there have been gatherings with friends and quieter celebrations with my own family, but there’s always a little part of me that misses the loud, chaotic magic of my childhood.
Christmas mornings were a scene unto themselves. We’d be up at the crack of dawn, full of sugar and excitement, while my dad, bless him, was likely just crawling into bed after a late shift. But no matter how tired he was, he always made time to build the biggest, warmest fire for us to gather around. After church, we’d return to a house filled with the smells of cooking, the sounds of laughter and arguments (often indistinguishable), and the kind of noise only a family of nine can produce. The boys would wind my dad up with their antics, the girls would be in the kitchen helping Mum, and the rest of those invited? Probably sneaking more food or starting another debate at the table.
Around the fire: where debates were louder than the TV, and naps came only after seconds—and thirds.
And oh, the table. It was the epicenter of everything—food, conversation, occasional tears (thanks to a heated debate or an overzealous sibling), and, of course, joy. As stuffed as we’d get, we’d somehow find room to eat again within a few hours. Overindulgence wasn’t just a theme; it was an art form. By the time the day wound down, we’d gather around the fire again, some of us napping, others watching movies, until it was time for yet another meal of leftovers and smaller bites.
It’s funny how time adds a sheen of nostalgia to everything. Back then, we didn’t appreciate the sheer effort it took to create those memories. We were too busy being kids, wrapped up in our own little worlds. Now, as an adult, I find myself looking back with a mix of awe and gratitude. Our parents didn’t just give us a holiday; they gave us a legacy of love, laughter, and the kind of chaos that makes for the best stories.
There’s a quote from Andy in The Office that always sticks with me: “I wish there was a way to know you’re in the good old days before you’ve actually left them.” How true that is. The good old days weren’t perfect, but they were ours. And now, as I light our Christmas Hearth candle, I’m transported back to those days in Ireland, gathered around the fire, stuffed to the gills, and wrapped in the warmth of family. It’s why I love that candle so much. It’s not just a scent; it’s a memory—of home, of love, of overindulgence, and of the incredible sacrifices our parents made to give us a little bit of magic.
May we all remember the good old days and, more importantly, create new ones for the next generation to cherish. And if you’re sneaking Christmas treats this year, let me offer one piece of advice: ditch the tape. Go straight for the Gorilla Glue. The only thing more relentless than Christmas shoppers is a child hunting for hidden presents—those little detectives could give Sherlock Holmes a run for his money.
Merry Christmas, and may your hearth be as warm and your table as loud as ours once was!
So with less than 5 days to Christmas, gather your loved ones, light a Christmas Hearth candle, and create your own cozy chaos—because these are the good old days in the making.
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