The blends of the Christmas Season

I dig out the ornaments. I hang the wreaths. Tony fights with the outdoor lights. I laugh at his dismay. Another holiday season is upon us.   

Are you ready for the holidays? Is Sam excited for Christmas? I bet he has a long list! I smile politely and respond, “As ready as I can be, oh sure, what kid doesn’t.” Not entirely true, but close enough.

Truth is, Sam doesn’t care about holidays or gifts. Much like making new friends, he prefers the familiar to the new. He smiles at the lights of the tree but has no vested interest in when or if it ever goes up. The noise and crowds at unfamiliar homes increase his anxiety as he tries to make sense of the commotion.   

Happiness for Sam is not contingent upon gifts or the success of Christmas – or any holiday. Happiness for Sam lies with the familiar and the joy of those he loves.

I understand this.

Christmas Eve was the holiday my mother loved. It was steeped in tradition and familiar routines that played out year after year. I remember the stories behind each decoration – many old and cherished, always a few new; our Christmas tree perfectly balanced between elegant ornaments and well-worn treasures.

I remember the yellowed recipe cards for the seven fishes of Christmas Eve. “Ewww.” I would say. “That looks like eye of newt and wing of bat.” My mother would chuckle saying, “Don’t be silly. It’s octopus, not bat.” “Same difference” I would counter all while making ridiculous suction noises with my tongue. “I’m not eating that. The suction cups will get stuck in my throat.”  She would smile as she shook her head and admonish me to set the table.


Her favorite, the pasta dish with breadcrumbs and walnuts was always made last. She would say, “I could eat this every day.” “Why don’t you make it other times then,” I would ask.  The response never changed: “Because it wouldn’t be special.”

I remember our last Christmas together. I can hear her voice, briefly sad, saying, “When I go, the traditions will go with me.” 

Though I assured her otherwise, in some ways she was right.

As I prepare for this Christmas Eve, I remember the rituals; the process of the holiday unfolding: the endless trays of Italian cookies, the familiar conversation. The touch of my mother’s hand over mine on that last holiday demonstrating the calamari stuffing and how to soak the baccala.

I miss her pasta and walnut sauce as only she could make it. I miss her inevitable post mortem on the cookies she had baked.

Like my Sam, there are things I could watch endlessly. Like my Sam, I want to hold tightly to my mother's traditions for the “all is right with the world” sense of security they provide.

So I find the time to bake the cookies, the smell of the cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg briefly transporting me to the safety of my childhood home.  I see my mother’s face and know the pasta with walnuts is non-negotiable and must be made.  

Some traditions are left behind, it’s true, but they are never forgotten. As we build new traditions, we incorporate some of the old. We bridge the gap between Sam’s world, my world, and my mother’s world and added a little splash of Tony’s world for good measure. As Sam would say, “Is good.”

In the security of our home, we wake Christmas morning and relax, coffee in hand. Singing Jingle Bells and dancing we critique the success of this year’s batch of cookies. Do they measure up? No. They never will. But each year they improve a little as I find the hidden secrets to success.

The gifts are secondary. It's the ritual of blending old expectations with new. Creating new traditions while honoring the old. Holding on and letting go. Seeing my mother’s smile in Sam’s face. Hearing Tony laugh. Blending my past and future. Finding peace, if only for a moment.

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Sleepless Nights and Facebook

Last night, I took a trip down memory lane via Facebook posts, thinking it might help me fall asleep. What I found instead was a storyline that only reinforces what I already know: we aren't your typical suburban neighbors. 

One of my very first posts reads, “There is nothing that passes for normal going on here.” Maybe not much that will pass for normal, but certainly some consistent trends and themes. Here are some excerpts from life at our house via Facebook.

On Late night parties and more:

The state of my kitchen counter this AM: An open, mostly consumed milk bottle, bread with slices strewn, some toasted, toaster, carton of eggs - some cracked, several butter knives, misc. items... yes, the night crawler has struck.

Sam's been drinking at night. Yup. Found him passed out on the couch in the wee hours of the morning with all the evidence: a half-empty bottle of chocolate syrup, an almost empty bottle of milk and a tall glass - 3/4 chocolate, 1/4 milk…

Sam threw another fun-filled party at our house last night about 2 AM... lots of lights, electronics, food and drink. It is really great the way he leaves the 'frig & freezer door open to keep the kitchen cool.

Another night of 2 AM partying. Found 4 bowls of melted chocolate ice cream and 4 spoons and assorted other foods, lots of lights and music. Guess he was expecting company. 

I am looking for a family of vampires to take Sam in. Since they are nocturnal, he should fit in just fine.

On answering machines, censorship and career choices:

New phone and answering machine installed last night; Sam is working on disassembling and cracking the code. He is making good headway. I think he has a future in crime.

Sam has been deleting some of my facebook posts. Apparently he does not subscribe to the First Amendment.

Some kids are proud of a good grade, others of their fancy footwork in a sport. Sam proud to be "a pest; a giant pest; the biggest pest in the world." While he is gifted here, arguably it is time to shift to a new goal.

If you've left me a message and I haven't called you back, don't be offended. Caught Sam deleting messages before I had a chance to hear them. Guessing he has been doing this for a while... On the bright side, I spend less time on the phone.

Sam's career as a kid is over. How do I know this? He told me.

I thought Sam was my only child – but apparently not:

Today I learned that Sam has 4 sisters (Kate, Alex, Marykate, and Jane) and 7 brothers (Jack, Joe, Tom, Jason, Zack, John, and Josh). My, I've been busy. Guess that could explain my current exhaustion.

Sam now keeps telling me he has 2 sisters and 2 brothers. Their names are Robin, Sister, Joe and Lazy. I am guessing Lazy is the one who keeps leaving dishes in my sink.

Dining out, vacations and other adventures:

Sam made it to the hostess at Bertucci's before me and informed her we are a party of 7. I looked around and only counted 4. He must be expecting company. Whoever you are, you're late.

Just back from the movies with my date Sam. Shrek Forever After, one of our favorite franchises. I bought the popcorn, beverages and movie tickets. I drove and held the door. What he lacks in chivalry, he makes up for in good looks.

According to Sam, we are going to see the Boston Red Sox play basketball tomorrow. Who says there aren't any surprises in baseball?

If people are staring at your car, you need to investigate. While waiting for Tony in the market lot today, Sam wiggled out of his bathing suit and had his butt stuck out the sunroof. No, I don't know how he did it or what he was thinking. 

If you happen to be at a restaurant and see one lonely flip-flop sitting under a table, it belongs to Sam.

Last night Sam told me, "I packed you an umbrella, an extra pair of boots and your angry eyes, just in case." Tools for my next life? A trip? Hard to say. To the first person that knows who said that and where you'll get... well, nothing.

Walking down the street yesterday Sam started singing (at the top of his lungs) a Sir Mix A Lot song with lyrics "I like big butts and I cannot lie..." As everyone turned to look at my butt I thought, OK, we need more work on blending.

If you find a big, shiny red apple at the super market with a giant bite missing, it was Sam. Memo to self, do not send Sam and Tony to the market unsupervised...

On life at home:

I asked Sam to get me a glass of water and watched in amazement as he listened, got up and walked to the 'frig. He even got ice and filled the glass with water. He headed toward me, paused for a moment... and drank my water. Then he gave me the empty glass.

Good news. No tomato throwing at my house this week... don’t ask.

I caught Sam heading for the garage holding a very long wooden matchstick, wearing a very large grin. While he didn't have a striker or reveal his plan, I highly doubt any good could possibly come of that combo.

OK, I know there are bigger issues like world peace and a down economy, but I was about to bake and someone ate ALL my raisins!

Found Sam in the driveway wearing underwear, a tee shirt, carrying a very large pitchfork. Oh did I mention he was wearing a very big smile?

Today I learned that if you leave a jar of peanut butter on the counter unattended when you return, it will be empty.

I bought a very cool Delonghi toaster. Nice sheen in a stainless way; a neat neon blue light that automatically lowers the bread. It toasts the same piece of bread over and over if you repeatedly touch the blue neon light and don’t bother to remove the toast. How quickly will your house fill with smoke when you do this? How very black can toast become? And how long your smoke detectors will screech? If you'd like the answer to this and more, call Sam.

Did you feel the earth shake tonight like an 8.2 on the Richter scale? Not to worry. It's just Sam, jumping on the bed again and adding a few more stress fractures to the ceiling.

We will execute Sam's plan today. Well, maybe only the legal parts.

On Halloween:

Ok, I probably shouldn't admit this, but I have someone here who thinks if he smells some feet, he'll get something good to eat.

In the neighborhood and other adventures:

Some mark Spring by the first daffodil or tulip. At our house, it is Sam's first run up the street in his underwear. In case you are wondering, it is officially Spring.

Another day in suburbia. Plants some flowers. Try not to scare the neighbors...

Caught Sam going up the sidewalk early this AM, barefoot, wearing underpants (on backward) and a tee. He had straddled his bike and was sort of walking it. I asked him where he was going and he responded, “Dunkin Donuts.” When asked what he wanted, he responded, “Chocolate Munchkins.” Since he doesn’t have any pockets in his underwear, I do wonder how he planned to pay.

Yes, Sam jumped out the window today. Thank you, Sponge Bob.

And defying categorization all together: 

Sam slipped and slid down the stairs on his butt. Kelsey (the sitter) asked if he was all right. Sam pointed to his butt, said "Hurt." Then walked up to her, stuck out his butt, pointed and said "Kiss." So what I got out of this is Sam wanted Kelsey to kiss his butt... Oy vey.


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