Christmas Traditions
Merry Christmas Ollie!
This is my absolutely favorite time of year. I love the hustle and bustle, I love the smells, the sights, the family gatherings, the cards, the movies, the cookies...oh the cookies...I love it all. I got my Christmas spirit from my parents, but mostly from my Mom. She would spend all December fancying up the house, making her famous sugar cookies, and decorating the tree. She'd tell us that Santa only fills stockings, but Mom and Dad do the presents, which meant that not only were we trying to suck up to Santa, we were trying to suck up to Mom and Dad, too. Courtney would always be up around 3am Christmas morning. She'd try to wake us up but we'd roll back over. We'd come downstairs to find the tree lit up, the presents taken out from under the tree and stacked in piles according to wrapping, and Courtney asleep on the couch with bits of her stocking strewn around her. That was the rule: you could open your stocking, but you couldn't touch the presents. So usually, after Mom would wake up and get in the shower (sooo NOT FAIR) and put the orange rolls in the oven, she'd make Courtney put the presents back under the tree "nicely." She always had a special system that she thought we couldn't figure out, but she'd always forget it until the first one of us opened a present that was meant for another sister. We'd have already gotten in the lame sister presents (bought from the school Christmas shoppe) on Christmas Eve while munching on pizza, so we'd be opening all the parent gifts in the morning. Dad would set up the video camera, which would end with him cursing or us having a nice video that we would never see. The first gift was always Dad's chocolate covered cherries, which he'd always feign surprise and that we'd get from Veni's in downtown Niles (the same place where we get caramel apples for the Apple Festival parade). Then, after we'd all clean up and put our presents away (Dad's presents were always the last to head upstairs - they barely ever made it past the 4th step), we'd eat some rolls, maybe some eggs, and laze around watching The Christmas Story and SportsCenter all on repeat and in between naps. Mom and Dad decreed early on that we'd neither go anywhere nor invite anyone over on Christmas Day. It was our tradition. Mom would spend the entire day baking bread and cooking Cornish Game Hens for our Christmas dinner, and we'd get a picture around the table - usually after I'd have clunked my head on the overhead cabinets. We'd all go to bed happy, full and warm, and a little sad, because while we still had at least a week left of Christmas vacation, the anticipation and fun was over as far as we could see.
The next day, Mom would get a bee in her bonnet to put away all the Christmas stuff, so we'd either help-slash-complain or make her stop to stuff us into our snow suits. You see, we had a huge hill behind our house that was perfect for sledding. Mom didn't even have to watch us it was so close she could just look out the window. And she knew that if something bad happened, one of us girls would race inside to get her. All she had to do was get us ready. But Ollie, you have to understand that this in itself was a major undertaking.
First we'd all be in charge of getting all of our stuff: matching mittens, extra socks, hat, scarf, jacket, snowsuit and boots. All of the hats, mittens and scarves would be on the top shelf of the hall closet which was so tall, I still can't reach it without tippy toes. Inevitably, one person would be wearing mismatched mittens, another - ill-fitting snow pants and those two would be jealous of the one that had everything right. Usually Courtney - she was always the lucky one.
Then we'd all have to line up for Mom to zip us up. Someone would always screw up by putting something on in the wrong order (the trick is to put your mittens on before your jacket so you don't get snow in them) and the process would take longer. Or someone (me) would have to pee. Finally, when Mom finished the last of us, she would have to wake me up off the couch because warm clothes always put me down for the count.
We'd head outside, only to make Dad find our sleds and maybe do the initial push because sometimes it was hard to get enough oomph to push someone over the snow for the first time. The hill behind our house stopped abruptly at a few railroad ties, so we'd rip down the hill and then catch some air when we hit the ties. Then SLAM! down on our butts we'd go at the bottom of the hill. You'd have to be careful and lean to the side or stick your mitten in the snow so that you didn't go too fast and whack into the deck. Courtney would always bail halfway down the hill because she was too scared to land, and we were always wary of snow-hidden dog poo piles. But the best part was after you landed, you could lay down in the snow for a minute to catch your breath before you'd have to heave back up the hill. It was always so relaxing. That was the optimum time to catch snowflakes on your tongue, btw., or carve out a few snow angels. We'd be sore as hell when we'd get back in, which would be about 15 minutes later because one of us wouldn't have added extra socks and would be too cold, or would have gotten snow stuck inside our gloves, or would've gotten mad at me for sticking snow down the back of their coat, or would have taken a slide down the hill on their face. We'd rush in - always forgetting to go in through the garage, where we could peel off our wet clothing without Mom yelling at us. That first burst of hot air when we got in the laundry room would welcome us, as would Mom's promise of hot cocoa with itsy marshmallows once we lined up our boots so no one would "break their necks."
Mom usually could count on us taking naps after a "day" of sledding because we'd be worn out. I'm sleepy just thinking about it all.
And, that - on a loop - would be how our Christmas vacation would go, including tantrums, sister fights and trips to the mall to "get out of the house for once."
This year it's a little different, love, but no less merry or traditional. I get to take off my own Christmas vacation - 2 weeks - from work, and will be planning to wrap, clean, make merry and scrapbook. Our second annual tradition of visiting with Doug's cousins and then coming home to spend Christmas with Nana, Papa, Aunt Heather, Uncle Ross and your cousins will take place on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day we'll spend together as a family, just the 3 of us. Your Aunt Jessica is taking her family to Michigan to spend with 2/3 of the Cook clan, so we've sent some presents (which you helped wrap) along with her. So far the house is decorated inside and out, our tree is trimmed and glowing, your Advent calendar that Gaga made is hung, Cookies are made, Christmas stories are being read and reread, and carols are being sung at all times. The Nativity scene is out and you've only broken one piece of the Holy family - Joseph, the less important one. You got holiday pictures taken and you wrote a letter to Santa and mailed it at the post office like the big deal you are. You've learned "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" this year ("shout with gleeet"), as well as the "Fa la la la las" to "Deck the Halls," and the chorus to "Up On the Housetop." You've met Santa already and watched the annual Santa skit at Bachmann's on Lyndale. You made a gingerbread house with Papa at daycare, and I have a gingerbread house all ready for us to decorate this weekend. We haven't gone sledding yet because we haven't received much snow, but we'll get there. As far as the holidays go, you're set.
On the way back to the car after meeting Santa, you had this discussion with your Daddy:
O: "Daddy? What are the reindeer? Donn-...Dash-..."
D: "Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen."
O: "But you forgot one!"
D: "Which one did I forget, Ollie?"
O: "Rudoff da Red-Nose Reindeer!"
D: "So I did!"
O: "Daddy, how we gonna catch the reindeer?"
D: "Uhh, I don't know buddy, what do you think?"
O: "Well, we gonna need Superman and Batman, because they flying mans."
D: "That's a good idea."
O: "Yeah. Spiderman can't do it because he's not a flying mans. He's a webber."
We also introduced The Elf on the Shelf this year, much to my chagrin and Doug's exuberance. You named him Elf-fred, although Mama may have had a hand in it. (You would've named him Go Go or Coco - those are your favorite things to call people right now - and I couldn't handle it. Once you heard Elf-fred, that was it.) Elf-fred arrived in your dump truck carrying the Elf on the Shelf book. So far he's been a mischievous little cuss. He's tp'ed the tree, taped up your animals, eaten your Halloween candy and Christmas cookies, and tried to steal Lightning McQueen and Mickey Mouse. What a stinker! You, of course, have touched him half a million times (you're not supposed to touch him because his magic disappears and he can't tell Santa what you've been doing - which, come to think of it, is kind of a life saver for you) and cried when you've found him playing with your toys. Daddy, however, is having a blast coming up with new situations to put Elf-fred in.
It's pretty nice to see how traditions change, isn't it? I will always be nostalgic for those Christmases that I spent with my family as a kid, but watching you light up when we talk about Christmas and getting to share this special season with you is worth it all.
I love you, Ollie. Merry Christmas sweetheart!
This is my absolutely favorite time of year. I love the hustle and bustle, I love the smells, the sights, the family gatherings, the cards, the movies, the cookies...oh the cookies...I love it all. I got my Christmas spirit from my parents, but mostly from my Mom. She would spend all December fancying up the house, making her famous sugar cookies, and decorating the tree. She'd tell us that Santa only fills stockings, but Mom and Dad do the presents, which meant that not only were we trying to suck up to Santa, we were trying to suck up to Mom and Dad, too. Courtney would always be up around 3am Christmas morning. She'd try to wake us up but we'd roll back over. We'd come downstairs to find the tree lit up, the presents taken out from under the tree and stacked in piles according to wrapping, and Courtney asleep on the couch with bits of her stocking strewn around her. That was the rule: you could open your stocking, but you couldn't touch the presents. So usually, after Mom would wake up and get in the shower (sooo NOT FAIR) and put the orange rolls in the oven, she'd make Courtney put the presents back under the tree "nicely." She always had a special system that she thought we couldn't figure out, but she'd always forget it until the first one of us opened a present that was meant for another sister. We'd have already gotten in the lame sister presents (bought from the school Christmas shoppe) on Christmas Eve while munching on pizza, so we'd be opening all the parent gifts in the morning. Dad would set up the video camera, which would end with him cursing or us having a nice video that we would never see. The first gift was always Dad's chocolate covered cherries, which he'd always feign surprise and that we'd get from Veni's in downtown Niles (the same place where we get caramel apples for the Apple Festival parade). Then, after we'd all clean up and put our presents away (Dad's presents were always the last to head upstairs - they barely ever made it past the 4th step), we'd eat some rolls, maybe some eggs, and laze around watching The Christmas Story and SportsCenter all on repeat and in between naps. Mom and Dad decreed early on that we'd neither go anywhere nor invite anyone over on Christmas Day. It was our tradition. Mom would spend the entire day baking bread and cooking Cornish Game Hens for our Christmas dinner, and we'd get a picture around the table - usually after I'd have clunked my head on the overhead cabinets. We'd all go to bed happy, full and warm, and a little sad, because while we still had at least a week left of Christmas vacation, the anticipation and fun was over as far as we could see.
The next day, Mom would get a bee in her bonnet to put away all the Christmas stuff, so we'd either help-slash-complain or make her stop to stuff us into our snow suits. You see, we had a huge hill behind our house that was perfect for sledding. Mom didn't even have to watch us it was so close she could just look out the window. And she knew that if something bad happened, one of us girls would race inside to get her. All she had to do was get us ready. But Ollie, you have to understand that this in itself was a major undertaking.
First we'd all be in charge of getting all of our stuff: matching mittens, extra socks, hat, scarf, jacket, snowsuit and boots. All of the hats, mittens and scarves would be on the top shelf of the hall closet which was so tall, I still can't reach it without tippy toes. Inevitably, one person would be wearing mismatched mittens, another - ill-fitting snow pants and those two would be jealous of the one that had everything right. Usually Courtney - she was always the lucky one.
Then we'd all have to line up for Mom to zip us up. Someone would always screw up by putting something on in the wrong order (the trick is to put your mittens on before your jacket so you don't get snow in them) and the process would take longer. Or someone (me) would have to pee. Finally, when Mom finished the last of us, she would have to wake me up off the couch because warm clothes always put me down for the count.
We'd head outside, only to make Dad find our sleds and maybe do the initial push because sometimes it was hard to get enough oomph to push someone over the snow for the first time. The hill behind our house stopped abruptly at a few railroad ties, so we'd rip down the hill and then catch some air when we hit the ties. Then SLAM! down on our butts we'd go at the bottom of the hill. You'd have to be careful and lean to the side or stick your mitten in the snow so that you didn't go too fast and whack into the deck. Courtney would always bail halfway down the hill because she was too scared to land, and we were always wary of snow-hidden dog poo piles. But the best part was after you landed, you could lay down in the snow for a minute to catch your breath before you'd have to heave back up the hill. It was always so relaxing. That was the optimum time to catch snowflakes on your tongue, btw., or carve out a few snow angels. We'd be sore as hell when we'd get back in, which would be about 15 minutes later because one of us wouldn't have added extra socks and would be too cold, or would have gotten snow stuck inside our gloves, or would've gotten mad at me for sticking snow down the back of their coat, or would have taken a slide down the hill on their face. We'd rush in - always forgetting to go in through the garage, where we could peel off our wet clothing without Mom yelling at us. That first burst of hot air when we got in the laundry room would welcome us, as would Mom's promise of hot cocoa with itsy marshmallows once we lined up our boots so no one would "break their necks."
Mom usually could count on us taking naps after a "day" of sledding because we'd be worn out. I'm sleepy just thinking about it all.
And, that - on a loop - would be how our Christmas vacation would go, including tantrums, sister fights and trips to the mall to "get out of the house for once."
This year it's a little different, love, but no less merry or traditional. I get to take off my own Christmas vacation - 2 weeks - from work, and will be planning to wrap, clean, make merry and scrapbook. Our second annual tradition of visiting with Doug's cousins and then coming home to spend Christmas with Nana, Papa, Aunt Heather, Uncle Ross and your cousins will take place on Christmas Eve. Christmas Day we'll spend together as a family, just the 3 of us. Your Aunt Jessica is taking her family to Michigan to spend with 2/3 of the Cook clan, so we've sent some presents (which you helped wrap) along with her. So far the house is decorated inside and out, our tree is trimmed and glowing, your Advent calendar that Gaga made is hung, Cookies are made, Christmas stories are being read and reread, and carols are being sung at all times. The Nativity scene is out and you've only broken one piece of the Holy family - Joseph, the less important one. You got holiday pictures taken and you wrote a letter to Santa and mailed it at the post office like the big deal you are. You've learned "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" this year ("shout with gleeet"), as well as the "Fa la la la las" to "Deck the Halls," and the chorus to "Up On the Housetop." You've met Santa already and watched the annual Santa skit at Bachmann's on Lyndale. You made a gingerbread house with Papa at daycare, and I have a gingerbread house all ready for us to decorate this weekend. We haven't gone sledding yet because we haven't received much snow, but we'll get there. As far as the holidays go, you're set.
Tree pre-Ollie removing all the ornaments, examining them and putting them in entirely different spots. Argh!
Apparently, his fiancée giving birth to someone else's child was too much for him to take.
Cute one...
Oh, and there's my little 3 year old. Complete with booger in nose, dry skin around the mouth, stain on shirt and crumb on the sweater. I think he may be "arrr-ing" like a pirate.
"Dear Santa,
I love you with presents and cake. I have been goody-good-good.
I would like a Mickey Mouse pillow and couch and a Doc McStuffins chair.
Thank you and I love you.
OMT."
On the way back to the car after meeting Santa, you had this discussion with your Daddy:
O: "Daddy? What are the reindeer? Donn-...Dash-..."
D: "Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, Vixen, Comet, Cupid, Donner and Blitzen."
O: "But you forgot one!"
D: "Which one did I forget, Ollie?"
O: "Rudoff da Red-Nose Reindeer!"
D: "So I did!"
O: "Daddy, how we gonna catch the reindeer?"
D: "Uhh, I don't know buddy, what do you think?"
O: "Well, we gonna need Superman and Batman, because they flying mans."
D: "That's a good idea."
O: "Yeah. Spiderman can't do it because he's not a flying mans. He's a webber."
We also introduced The Elf on the Shelf this year, much to my chagrin and Doug's exuberance. You named him Elf-fred, although Mama may have had a hand in it. (You would've named him Go Go or Coco - those are your favorite things to call people right now - and I couldn't handle it. Once you heard Elf-fred, that was it.) Elf-fred arrived in your dump truck carrying the Elf on the Shelf book. So far he's been a mischievous little cuss. He's tp'ed the tree, taped up your animals, eaten your Halloween candy and Christmas cookies, and tried to steal Lightning McQueen and Mickey Mouse. What a stinker! You, of course, have touched him half a million times (you're not supposed to touch him because his magic disappears and he can't tell Santa what you've been doing - which, come to think of it, is kind of a life saver for you) and cried when you've found him playing with your toys. Daddy, however, is having a blast coming up with new situations to put Elf-fred in.
And it wouldn't be the holidays without the croup.
It's pretty nice to see how traditions change, isn't it? I will always be nostalgic for those Christmases that I spent with my family as a kid, but watching you light up when we talk about Christmas and getting to share this special season with you is worth it all.
I love you, Ollie. Merry Christmas sweetheart!
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