Christmas in my family is serious business. No, I don’t mean that we go all out with decorations and sing carols. We don’t even have a tree most years, just a small empty space in my sister’s living room that we have designated for a stack of presents. I know what you might be thinking next, ‘But Penny – no decorations at all? Do you have any holiday spirit?’
You bet we have a Christmas spirit, but it might be a little unorthodox for some. Unlike most families, the Sunday a week before Christmas is our biggest day of the year. On that day, like clockwork, we all arrive at 8am for our annual gingerbread house-making competition. Yes, you heard that correctly. Gingerbread. The holiday treat that is now the bane of my existence.
The competition started out as a normal tradition a decade ago when my first sister moved away from home. It was a way to spend the week leading up to the holiday together when she would come to visit. We thought we would give out a small first-place prize for the ‘best gingerbread house architect’ as a joke gift.
I don’t know how or when it did, but the event snowballed out of control. People started bringing their own candy building supplies for small improvements that would put their gingerbread houses at the top. Then one year someone built an entire residential area, with a chocolate-sculpted park, icing sugar properties and gumdrop cobblestone streets. The first prize started becoming bigger. Competition ramped up. It delved into chaos as extended relatives, family friends and neighbours all heard about the craze and wanted to sign up as gingerbread design and build contractors! On the Mornington Peninsula, everyone seemed to want to join in after the third year.
It got to the point where we had to start hiring community centres just to keep the thing going with the number of participants we had. When I tried to point out the extent to which this tradition had gone, that it no longer was really a family ‘tradition’, my family only presumed I was jealous. Sure, I’d lost every single year, and maybe that is why I wanted the tradition to end so badly. It never did, and it showed no signs of stopping, so I formulated a plan.
They would have to hear me out if they didn’t have that excuse of me being a sore loser and this year, I came prepared. I called the number of the most trustworthy, professional luxury home designers Melbourne had to offer and asked them to come with me as my advisors. My house was going to be the most unique gingerbread house to date. I’d even planned for an in-ground honey swimming pool, hard rock candy lighting and a two-door poppytart garage. There was no way I would lose!
Walking into the competition with a developer and architect behind me, I couldn’t wait to see everyone’s reaction.