The Official Christmas Blog

At our house, Christmas started on Dec. 6, St. Nick's day. Everyone got up early, in order to clean and decorate the house. By midmorning, the house was as clean as two kids could make it, the heavy boxes were downstairs, the furniture was moved, and it was time to begin.

Joe was responsible for untangling the lights, while Mom and I sorted the branches for the ancient tree. I hated sorting. The little letters on the stems were faded and worn. Holding up two branches to try determining their relative size didn't always work, as the tree was so old. Eventually, however, we would always manage to get the job done. It took all of Joe's strength to get the bent branches in the tree trunk. Once the branches were all in, we would step back for a moment to admire our handiwork.

Being tallest, Joe was assigned to the top of the tree, Mom got the middle, and I did the bottom. Lights, of course, came first. Joe had already gone through and replaced the burnt bulbs as he untangled the strings, so once the lights were strung and plugged in, the tree would shine brilliantly-- except for that one light that just now burnt out. Back then, if one light didn't work, none of them did. So, we would unstring the tree, and Joe would (relatively) patiently test each light again, as Mom and I started unpacking ornaments.

With our tree strung and glowing, we started in on the ornaments. Giant glass balls that Mom had bought their first Christmas, just to have something on the tree. The handmade ornaments passed down through generations, each with its own story to tell. The tiny ones specifically for the top branches. The ceramic ones Mom made in her ceramics class. And of course, the Elvis Presley one.

As we picked up each ornament, Mom would yell, "Be careful with that one!" and tell the story behind it.

Finally the last item-- the Christmas angel. This angel was beautiful to the eyes of a child. It had a long, flowing gown, bright blue eyes, and a real halo. Joe wasn't allowed to hang her-- Mom got out the ladder for this. She would very carefully tie the angel to the tree with the too-short bits of string provided. She would position the angel Just So. Then she would fiddle with the lights, until a yellow one was right behind the angel's halo. Voila-- Christmas magic.

Now it's time to move on to the manger scene. Mom made the entire thing, in her ceramics, and it's the most beautiful one I've ever seen, even now. Being ceramic, however, the box is HEAVY. Usually, Dad was put into service to bring it down the night before. Once the box is safely down, the ritual of unwrapping the pieces begins. Whoever found the baby Jesus was the winner, but as the wise men, camels, and other large pieces somehow migrated to the top of the box, those had to come out first. Each piece was (somewhat) gently unwrapped, and set down.

Once all the pieces are done, my mother would dim the lights and begin. As she told the Christmas story, she would act it out with the pieces from the manger scene-- from beginning to end, placing each piece in its exact spot. This was one of the high spots to our Christmas-- Mom could tell a damn good story, and when it was infused with her own faith, the story was even more special.

And this wasn't just any manger scene, you realize... Mom was in ceramics classes for years, and continually made new pieces. We have 3 wise men, 4 camels, a slave, 12 chicks, an owl, 3 angels, 12 sheep, a lake (complete with a fish jumping out of the water), the little drummer boy, St. Francis of Asissi, and a purple hippo my cousin Kaylee contributed when she was 6.

After a quick lunch, it was time to decorate the rest of the house. This part, Joe and I weren't too interested in, except for the hanging of the stockings. Every night, from the 6th through the 24th, St. Nick would leave a small gift in the stockings-- but only if we were good (and if Mom didn't forget). It was actually a very good way to keep us from driving her crazy the last few weeks before Christmas, and guaranteed our (better) behavior. For the next three weeks, every morning the first thing Joe and I would do would be to rush downstairs and check the stockings. There would be a quarter, a pack of gum, a page of stickers, or blessing of blessings, a candy bar. Of course, sometimes there was nothing at all, which made us strive to behave even better, that we might have a present the next morning.

Our other big thing was the Advent calendar. If you've never seen one, it's a calendar with the dates covered by a piece of hinged cardboard. Each morning, we would "open the door" for the appropriate date. Behind the door would be a small picture that related to the religious side of Christmas. Mom would tell us what the picture was about over breakfast, and we had some very lively discussions about faith, Christmas, and pretty much everything under the sun.

In the evenings, before supper, Joe would light the Advent candle(s). For you Catholics out there, the Protestant Advent wreath has 4 red candles in a menorah, with a white one in the middle. The white one is the Jesus candle, and is only lit on Christmas day, and for the week after Christmas. Joe, being oldest, ALWAYS got to light the Advent candles. For the 4 weeks of Advent, though at no other time, we would pray before we ate.

With 2 weeks to go, it was time to start the baking. Mom made enough cookies to last us a year. Chocolate chip, chocolate mint, molassas, sugar cookies, chocolate dreams, snickerdoodles... they were all there. And for once, I got the best job. Being the youngest, I was the one allowed to lick the beaters and mixing bowl clean after each batch. To a little girl, nothing says love like the taste of raw cookie-dough.

The most fun of cookie baking, however, is cutting out and decorating sugar cookies. Mom had cookie cutters of every size and shape, and Joe and I conscientiously decorated each and every cookie to the very best of our ability. We would spend hours, decorating those cookies. It kept us quiet, and out of Mom's hair, and the mess was actually edible.

Christmas eve was a very busy day. We had dinner with Mom's family, and unwrapped presents at noon. Supper and presents with Dad's family.

Family is a wonderful thing, and the most wonderful part of it is being able to leave at the end of the evening. Church was at 7, and after church, we would go home to rest. With Christmas morning to look forward to, we were more than willing to go to bed early.

3 a.m., and Joe and I are already downstairs, examining the presents. By 6, the parents were up. A quick scramble for the required camera, and we were off! Fifteen minutes later, it was all over. Breakfast, church, a quick clean-up, and Mom began to cook. Assorted relatives would be in and out all day, bearing last-minute gifts, food, and tired, hyperactive children. In the afternoon, everyone would gather in the living room to watch the Christmas movies and eat cookies. In the evening, the children would play board games, and the grownups would talk; everyone gathering the strength of will to drag their tired bodies home to bed. That night, I would sleep with my new stuffed animal or doll, with dreams of sugarplums dancing in my head.