Three years ago I was just over three months pregnant with our baby, Frog. That year, the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine and I decided to “do Christmas” ourselves. Being the fierce family types that we were, the thought of either of us ditching one of our family’s in favour of the other’s just didn’t feel right. So we made a pact to spend our first Christmas just the two of us, visit our beloved families together afterwards and to spend our time alone creating our own traditions.

Some of these traditions were taken from our own childhoods and some were from things that we both liked to do (mainly eating and drinking related).

The NLM savours fond memories of going out as a family for dinner on Christmas Eve. We haven’t replicated that exactly, but we’ve taken our own twist on it. Today, we celebrated the arrival of the season we both love – a love we appear to have passed to our toddler – by a special lunch at our local pub.

We wrapped up warm and meandered down the canal to sit and stuff our faces. Oh, and wear silly hats.

The food was delicious and the festive mood was well and truly set. After a tough, tough year, this was exactly what we needed: time together just the three of us. Our family.

This marks the beginning of Christmas for us and I think it’ll be something we do every year now. The NLM describes the tingles of excitement he’d feel as a child as he ordered his meal on their special evening out, knowing that soon Father Christmas would be visiting. I like that he remembers it in such detail and I like that he wants to recreate that for Frog.

When we came home we watched a cheesy Christmas film (I forget the name) and slumped on the sofa. My toddler fell fast asleep on me and it was beautiful being able to relax into the cuddles without feeling guilty about looming deadlines and unanswered emails.

The NLM claimed he had Norovirus, an annual bout of hyperchondria that often follows a session of pigging out. Luckily, he slept it off and managed to soldier on for the rest of the day.

Christmas Eve will be drinks and nibbles at a neighbours, followed by the obligatory Father Christmas letter writing and leaving of carrots and mince pies. It’s amazing how becoming a parent can bring back those frissons of excitement about the big day. I feel a tumble of jumps in my tummy whenever I picture my toddler waking on Christmas Day to discover her presents have been delivered.

Tomorrow night’s bedtime will consist of stories including The Night Before Christmas and The Nutcracker – the same copies of the books my own mum read to me on Christmas Eve. Then we’ll wake on Christmas Day to stocking opening in bed with steaming hot mugs of tea, followed by gammon and eggs downstairs and the unveiling of the living room tree presents that Father Christmas has left.

Smoked salmon and cream cheese on blinis, Bucks Fizz, champagne, roast turkey with all the trimmings, Christmas pudding, cheese – lots of it – homemade sausage rolls and pork pie will also make an appearance. Along with lots and lots of chocolate.

And love. So much love and laughter – the odd bout of “Norovirus” – and cuddles.

I love Christmas.

And with that, I bid you all a very merry time. As I have mince pies to make and bubbles to drink.

Have a good one.

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There should be a law that states all mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters should live within 45 minutes of each other. The law should only be waivered in extreme circumstances, like if the family involved can’t stand each other and would rather live on opposite sides of the universe than a relatively short car journey away.

I don’t belong in that camp. I love my family – like them even. I bicker with my sister, who is also my best friend in the whole wide world. I laugh at my mother and father, who are also (they’d hate me saying this) my inspiration and – as an adult – people who I love to spend time with. I also love my in-laws and have found two new brothers and two new sisters in my marriage to the (self-proclaimed) Northern Love Machine.

The thing is, they all live too far away. Quite literally, at opposite ends of the country. My retired parents live in a beautiful cottage by the sea in Devon, 4 hours away. My in-laws live scattered around Manchester, also 4 hours away (although it’s usually more like 8 hours due to the appalling Friday night traffic).

It’s too far. Far too far.

Work commitments and the fact that, since January, I’ve only had a fortnight of holiday from those 70 hour weeks have meant we don’t get to see any of them as much as we’d like to. But it also means that the time we do get is precious.

On Friday we packed up the car and trailed up north. Eight hours of motorway traffic later, we arrived at the NLM’s homestead, to be greeted by smiles, hugs, wine, beer, a delicious curry and lots of toys for Frog. We woke up the next day to more family; two brothers and their lovely partners, a gorgeous 4 year old neice, a gurgling, soft and beautiful 6 week old new addition, an aunt, uncle, cousins, old friends… It was like something out of a Peter Kay sketch but with fewer grey cardigans and dodgy haircuts.

I love those huge family gatherings. As a child I would relish the chance to have all my aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents in one place. The bickering, the laughter, the food – oh, the food – the games, the inevitable tears, more laughter and more food. The first time I visited the NLM’s family in the north I felt instantly at home. It was the same.

This weekend Frog got another taste of the big family life. She carved a pumpkin with her idol – her cousin – and her grandfather. She ran off halfway through with her idol – her cousin – and left her grandfather to do most of the work. And she returned at the exciting bit with her idol – her cousin – to watch her uncle light the ceremonial candle in the window.

She spent ten minutes getting trussed up in her best outdoor gear for her grandfather’s annual fireworks display, only to watch 30 seconds before running indoors with grandma, screaming alondside her idol – her cousin.

She missed the sparklers. But that’s OK, because the adults made the most of them.

The weekend ended at 9pm on Sunday night, when we eventually arrived back home, dragging our suitcase full of dirty washing through the door. I’m still exhausted – as is Frog – but we had a brilliant time and those two nights spent with family were worth the long old haul up the motorway.

I just wish everyone lived nearer. But until that happens, I’m happy to drink in every second of the fleeting visits.

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