Christmas is a lot of pressure. I don’t know how my Mom did it. She had presents wrapped, food bought and cooked, house scrubbed and decorated – all with a great hairdo and matching shoes and bag. I have to start in July and still I’m always rushed. (I forgot about my salon appointment – just completely went blank – and I wear Keds.)
I’m always chasing Christmas. I always promise myself that I’m going to get my cards mailed by the first week in December and get all clothes washed, folded/ironed and in their drawers by Christmas Eve. Never happens. This year I made the goal only to mail the cards before Christmas and to get the clothes off the floor. It happened, but I felt my cup boiling over.
As a kid I had great Christmases. I don’t really have any bad childhood memories. That’s not to say we were the Cleavers, but my Mom gave my sister and me a childhood full of love, especially at Christmas. Now being a Mom myself I’m amazed she never cracked. My Dad was a bit of Grinch and Scrooge rolled into one, but my Mom always worked her magic on him by Christmas Eve. Dad is madly in love with Mom and always has been – even after 51 years. No matter how over budget she went or how many gifts she hid from him, Mom magic always worked best on Dad. By Christmas Dad would turn on Patti Page and let Silver Bells wash through the house.
This Christmas my parents came to my home. They come most every year but this year, for the first time, they were my only guests. I really wanted them to have a relaxed and enjoyable visit and I wanted my kids to make some lasting Grandma and Grandpa Christmas memories. I scrubbed, dusted, vacuumed and nagged my hubby to the brick of madness. I stocked the guest room with matching towels and hotel shampoos. I filled my fridge with all the stuff my Mom use to get, like pickled herring and dry salami. The house looked really good for about 2 hours, maybe 3.
We don’t have traditions; we have food. Every year we cook. We start the day before Christmas Eve and we just cook all the old recipes until we run out of sugar or butter. This year I watched my Mom as she made her cookies, pitas and sausage bread, all with my little Katie as her helper. Mom didn’t care much when the flour got all over the floor, or if Katie put too much salt in the mix. (I ordered my hubby to scrub the floor the day before. His knuckles bled.) I watched as my Mom taught her how to roll Snicker-doodle balls, how to crack the eggs and measure the baking soda. She made a mess but I didn’t get upset. I had the best time. Mom’s magic again.
The clothes didn’t get fully done, the dust-doggies sprang out of the corners, the wet towels weren’t hung with care, and it’ll take until New Years to get the grout clean. We sang carols and read stories, watched “It’s a Wonderful Life” for the billionth time, drank eggnog and hot chocolate, ate too many cookies and laughed.
I went to bed and realized my house was filled to the brim with love, just like when I was a kid. Mom magic – hers and mine.