I'm very lucky to have a huge, crazy family, probably in some respects it's too big but the good has always outweighed the bad.
I've never been stuck for a babysitter or an ear to bend, we lend each other money when an emergency arises like a family managed credit union.
My mother had nine children, not because the Pope told her to but because she'd been a lonely child herself and said no child of hers would ever feel that way, 'as long as you have each other you'll never be homeless or hungry' she'd say.
Our number nine died at birth but we often remember baby Ciaran who would have been as bonkers as the rest of us no doubt.
In times of need I've a sister who will always offer good advice and if she's busy I've a spare. I've always a brother to call on to fix one of my many DIY disasters and if he's busy there's a couple more where he came from. Those big lads would face Goliath for me and mine and for that I'm always thankful.
As a result of this parental enforced closeness our children have grown up more like siblings than cousins. We have multiplied to such an extent we can fill any party venue without the need for outside assistance.
If you mess up the matriarch Alice will let you know about it but I always take comfort in the fact there's so many of us someone else is bound to mess up soon enough and take the heat off.
I feel sorry for any newbie, girlfriend or boyfriend being introduced to the 'Morris mafia' for it must be one seriously overwhelming experience.
This huge family has always meant celebrations such as Christmas were manic, hilarious and memorable experiences.
Our house in Andersonstown - three tiny bedrooms, ten people squashed into multiple bunk beds - was like Smyths toy shop on Christmas morning.
My parents made sure we all had as many presents as they could afford and a few they couldn't and would be paying off out of the catalogue for months after the tree had been taken down.
Excited children queued up in order of age to go downstairs for our gifts like a west Belfast version of the Von Trapps, Sugar Puffs instead of cornflakes for breakfast and a dinner piled as high as the Black Mountain, these are my childhood Christmases.
In this Christmas week I remain in awe of my Ma and her ability to budget and aware of my own disorganisation and inadequacies given I'll still be shopping at closing time on Christmas Eve, mainly for back up supplies of wine and gin it has to be said.
Social media means that now those celebrations are not just captured on a few grainy pictures but posted within seconds for all to see.
And because of my work I'm also acutely aware that while I'm in my onesie opening presents with my children on Christmas morning there'll be people for whom the events of the last year mean that day is as far removed from the picture perfect, facebook filtered image.
This year I covered the murder and the funeral of mother-of-three Jennifer Dornan and I'm minded that those little children I watched walking with heads bowed behind a coffin in August will be spending their first Christmas without their mother's love, something that even us adults still need at times.
For the families of all those who lost a loved one, landmark days such as Christmas bring sadness with an acute awareness of an empty seat or an unopened present.
There are also those for whom life dealt them a bad deck. I'm recall the young man blue with cold who stopped me on my way to work last Boxing Day to say he hadn't eaten or spoken to anyone in 24 hours. I tweeted about it and an anonymous reader sent money in an envelope to be donated to a homeless charity. There are still more good people than bad in the world.
I also have a friend going through a particularly difficult time and I dearly hope that Christmas for her brings with it some much needed positive news, regardless she knows we'll journey together whatever happens just as we have for the past 25 years.
And so while I'm not big on offering up thanks and praying isn't my thing I am eternally grateful for what I have and wish you all, even the ones who often contact me to disagree with my every word, a very Happy Christmas.
