Christmas

I was so thankful for Christmas break to have finally arrived that I nearly wept. After a week of hand dipping candles with 2nd graders, decorating 27 full sized gingerbread houses with 2nd graders, making hot cocoa in crockpots with 1st graders, two concert rehearsals, two concerts, preparing for new carpeting in our pod of classrooms, getting computers sorted for departing and incoming staff, normal teaching duties, a day with a substitute teacher, and a lockdown just before we were supposed to dismiss on that Friday (with my own child in the building no less) I was done. With a capital D. I had only the presents purchased that had needed to ship, only a batch of spritz cookies made, shopping to do, and a house to clean for guests on Christmas Eve. We didn't even have a tree!

It is so amazing to me how quickly things can fall into place with a bit of work. We got our tree. We baked, we shopped, we cleaned. Somehow those worries that whisper, "you'll never get it all done", are silenced, and somehow it all comes together.

In both the midst and the aftermath, I began to think of traditions. How they take root and hold on to be passed from one generation to the next. And I, of course, began to think of my mom. How she made Christmas such a special time. I have no idea how, with eight children and all that that entails, she was able to give her children the gift of a truly wonderful Christmas season year after year.

Food has got to be the number one item on my mom's list for a successful holiday season. She bakes the most wonderful cookies and treats. Toffee, brittles, spritz, butter horns. Oh man, the butter horns. I remember the year she made a huge batch of them (they're time consuming as heck) and stored them in the freezer in the basement. My sister and I "sneaked" them until they were nearly all gone. Poor Mom. She truly cares that her kids carry on the same traditions, and we all own spritz presses, and come December, the usual phone calls ensue: "which recipe does Mom use?", "which cookbook has the correct recipe for spritz?", "do you chill the dough? 'cause mine is sticking in the press". We call home with an alarming frequency as the holidays approach because we want to cook the same things, we crave the same tastes of home. Never has the question of mulling spices been so carefully scrutinized. Most of us have assumed mortgages and made major life decisions, but we don't feel comfortable at Christmas until we've consulted the Oracle. From fondue chemistry to proper ham selection, we need our Mom to set us straight.

[An aside: Do not try to hide anything from my mom. She will find out. She is the world's worst keeper of secrets. She hates not being in the know. This is at its worst right around Christmas, Valentine's Day, and her birthday. If you are planning a surprise: don't. She will find out. Which is why one of my very early memories of Christmas, is the time our Dad piled us kids into the car and drove to Beaverton (this was before Nike made it too famous) to pick up a sewing cabinet he'd purchased for our Mom's gift. Imagine that, to hide any trace of what he was up to, he'd had to resort to driving to Beaverton, Oregon. Of course he also stopped for a truly mind-numbing stroll through a ski shop called Mogul Mouse (which was the only interesting thing about the store to us kids, we were curious as to why a mouse would be skiing in the first place). I don't know if Dad was trying to throw mom off his trail, or he was hopeful that he'd get to do some skiing finally, but it has stuck in my memory.]

I'll just say it. We are a product of our time - which was the 1980's. One Christmas Mom and Dad were hosting a Christmas party for a large group f church friends. They had tables set up in the dining room, living room, and in the den. And it was one of the most beautiful sights ever. Dad had caved and allowed a flocked tree (living in rainy Oregon, flocked trees, I think, made him very homesick). Mom covered it in duck ornaments, and little French horn ornaments. The tables were gorgeous with different sets of Mom's china (she may have a slight addiction to dishes). I have always thought my mom has one of the best eyes for decorating. Her homes have always been comfortable and pretty. I appreciate that she taught us how to make a home you'd like to spend time in. It doesn't have to do with money, but how you put things together. Soap and water do not cost much. Use a fitted and a flat sheet. Dust. Clean your toilets. Empty your trashcans. Do your dishes as you cook, and right after a meal. Clean up right away. Find a way you like to fold your towels and stick to it. Take care of your belongings. Don't let things get dirty or unsightly. Clean your refrigerator. When I think of how Christmas should look, I am reminded of that party. House cleaned and dusted until sparkling. Decorations just so. The smells of good food ready to be shared with friends and family. I drive my own small family crazy with this stuff, but I cannot, in good conscience, leave any of that stuff to chance.

One of the things I am most grateful for in my life, is that I had such a good mother. She loved and protected us fiercely. To be loved by my mom was to be in equal parts: a soldier under a good commander, a bear cub who'd better listen to its mother, a budding Merry Maid, and an individual with your own worth and identity. I'm never reminded of these things so much as I am at Christmas-time.