It is 2 am Christmas Eve, and I am woken from a deep sleep by the overpowering smell of burning plastic. It takes a few seconds for my brain to clear before I give my snoring husband a shove and shout,

‘Boots, I think the reindeer is on fire!’

I leap out of bed and make for the door.

As I skid sideways out of the hallway into the kitchen, I take in the smoke billowing from my oven and a blue haze hovering above the kitchen bench.

Yep, there is no doubt about it – the reindeer is a goner.

This is not a good start.

This is supposed to be our first Christmas, embracing simpler, more meaningful traditions.

But there is nothing simple or meaningful about a char-grilled reindeer.

Only an overpowering burnt rubber smell.

But I digress.

You see, as a family, we had begun to question the consumer focus that had slowly but surely hijacked Christmas. I couldn’t pinpoint when Christmas had become more about acquiring stuff rather than being grateful for what we already had. But the mad dash to the shopping mall on Christmas Eve was a dead giveaway.

My siblings and I also acknowledged that if we really wanted or needed extra stuff in our lives, a dust-buster, spanner set (you know the types of things I mean), we’d go and get them. Then and there. When we needed them.

So a few years ago, it was agreed that the focus of our gift-giving should change.

We had already been doing Kris Kringle (KK) for a few years. It worked well, so we retained this part of the tradition and changed the rest.

From then on, gifts had to be handmade, personal and low-cost.

Doesn’t this sound lovely?

A word of warning… it is much, MUCH easier to go to a shop and buy STUFF.

So, back to that first Christmas Eve.

Boots will tell you he is not particularly creative. The closer it gets to Christmas, the higher his gift anxiety becomes. To make matters worse, he had drawn my sister-in-law in the KK.

She has the brains of a doctor (she is literally a doctor) and the creativity of Martha Stewart.

The pressure was intense.

So, it was the day before Christmas, and he still hadn’t come up with a gift idea. We were doing some last-minute shopping when he spied a DIY snow globe kit. It came with all materials required, including pink plasticine to sculpt a masterpiece to display in the snow globe.

He had found his get-out-of-jail-free card; I could see the relief on his face.

So, it’s midnight, Christmas Eve, the gifts are wrapped, the food prepared, and my big, manly husband is sitting at the dining table rolling pink plasticine between his fingers, over and over and over again.

“What are you going to make?” I ask, trying to hurry the process up.

“Shhhh,” he says, “I’m thinking.”

I wait, longing for my bed.

“I’ve got it!” he exclaims. “I’ll make a reindeer!”

“Good for you,” I tell him, all the while thinking…. I’d like to see that.

About fifteen minutes later, the man proved me wrong.

He nailed that reindeer - it was the cutest looking pink plasticine reindeer I’d ever seen.

He proudly inspected his masterpiece and placed it on a baking tray. The instructions said to bake it at 250 degrees for 20 minutes or until it becomes hard. He popped it in the oven and suggested we lay down for a few minutes to wait for it to cook.

You know where this story is going, don’t you?

So there I am, staring at my smoke-filled kitchen, when Boots strides across the room, yanks open the oven, removes the oven tray, opens the back door and flings his reindeer (tray and all) into the middle of the driveway.

“F@#K the reindeer,” he says, slamming the door.

He then goes back to bed.

The next morning, as the first rays of dawn stretched over our paddocks, I snuck out to the driveway and rescued the reindeer (and my oven tray). However, it no longer looked like a reindeer. It looked like a shrivelled-up huge black dog poop.

As the guests began to arrive, I reminded my hubby that our sister-in-law is not only intelligent and creative, she also has a wicked sense of humour; maybe she would see the funny side of the dog poop snow globe?

He looked at me doubtfully. But given he was out of options, he wrapped up the snow globe and sat it under the tree.

My sister-in-law’s response?

Well, let’s say the char-grilled reindeer has gone down in history.

We all claim we hate the homemade present. The grumbling about whom you have drawn or what you will make starts about June. Getting an early start on your homemade present elevates you to a superior status that allows you to send obscene text messages to your siblings announcing your greatness.

The competition is fierce.

A few years ago, one of my sisters-in-law super-glued her hand to the dining table (not joking).

There have also been allegations of cheating, cleverly rebadged as ‘outsourcing’ (hello, Boots).

To date, we have had homemade chook lifters, robber stoppers, gingerbread house replicas (to scale, mind you), rum balls as big as your head, animated cartoons, and of course… dog poop snow globes, to name a few.

So here is my question, if a char-grilled reindeer snow globe resembling a burnt dog poop is the most memorable Christmas gift I’ve ever known…. why, why, why do I still get caught up in the shazizzle of the silly season every dang year and end up down an inevitable stuff rabbit hole?

Because it’s not a rabbit hole I like.

So, my wish for you this Christmas is to hit a six and out in backyard cricket, eat one too many slices of Aunty Brenda’s pavlova, whisper to someone that you love them, and laugh until you cry at least once, because these are the truly priceless moments.

Merry Christmas to you and yours,

Lisa