Christmas morning

Ahhh, the letdown. So unavoidable, it's an accepted part of the Christmas experience. I seem to feel it more strongly these days, perhaps because -- since I'm the mom -- I work hard to make Christmas come together. I'm always reminded, on Christmas morning, that you can't make other people happy. Right now it's about 10:15 am and the boys are building their Lego sets. And they're actually pretty happy (although Kid A is distressed that he doesn't have new AAA batteries for his Lego train). But during the opening of the gifts, between about 7:15 and 7:45, there were entirely too many critical comments. I try to let it flow over me, reminding myself that I was like that once upon a time.

I think it's also hard for me because the boys are pretty low-key about gifts. When they get something they like, they don't express their joy, they just throw the gift aside while looking for the next. The low-keyness they get from their father, but Rocket Boy does politely show appreciation. "Oh, that's nice," he says mildly, when he opens something. I try to model an alternate response: "Oh, wow, how cool! Oh, I love it, it's perfect!" Nobody seems interested in following my example. Though, to be fair, some appreciative comments are heard later, after all the gifts are open. "I'm going to munch on some kisses," Kid A announced, tackling the candy cane shaped container that he'd thrown aside earlier. "My blanket!" said Kid B, wrapping himself in navy blue softness and rolling on the ground, long after he actually opened the gift.

A few days ago, when I was busily making more Christmas cookies, I stopped to wonder why on earth I do all the things I do for Christmas. Part of it is of course because it's tradition and I like traditions. I like the way the holidays mark off the months of the year. But another big reason is that because Christmas was an important part of my childhood, my memories of my family (both good and bad) are very strong this time of year. This is especially true when I'm making cookies. I was mixing up sugar cookie dough when I was thinking this, and I could hear my mother's voice so clearly, she might have been in the same room, not dead nearly 11 years. I had left the butter out to soften several hours before, but it hadn't softened, so I used the microwave to soften it -- and of course it got too soft. My mother shook her head at this, so close I could almost touch her.  She and I bantered back and forth as I worked on the dough, discussing the pros and cons of my wooden spoon vs. her metal spoon. We argued about how much flour to use, whether it mattered that I put in twice as much grated orange rind as the recipe called for, and later how thin to roll out the dough. Kid A helped me cut and decorate the cookies, and I tried to explain to him what I was doing and why, so that he would have the same kind of vivid memories of his mom.

I feel like I'm channeling my mother this year, and not necessarily in a good way! She didn't have dementia -- except possibly right at the very end of her life -- just sort of a gradual increase in carelessness. There was a chicken dish she used to make that she could never remember the name of: I think it was "Lazy Day Chicken" (because it was supposedly very easy), but she would call it "Happy Day Chicken," or whatever popped into her mind. As the years progressed, she had more and more trouble with Christmas -- forgetting about presents she'd bought until Christmas morning when she realized they hadn't been unwrapped. I thought I'd never do such a thing, but it's become almost a tradition in itself. I also seem to have had trouble READING this year. I bought the kids shirts at Target, and I chose this one for Kid B, because he likes the show "The Big Bang Theory." Except that, as you can undoubtedly see, it doesn't say "Big Bang," it says "Big Plans"!

Another example: to wrap the flannel sheet sets I got for the twins, we re-used some weird Amazon present sacks that Aunt Nancy had sent gifts to the twins in at some earlier time. "They're perfect," I said to Rocket Boy. "We'll just say the sheets are from Nancy, since her present didn't get here yet." He agreed, and we were careful to put Kid A's sheets in the wrapping addressed to him, and Kid B's sheets in the wrapping addressed to him. Unfortunately, as the kids noticed immediately, the cards actually say "Happy Birthday." And remember, I earn my money (at least partially) as an EDITOR!

I also had a little trouble putting Christmas Eve dinner on the table this year. I know they always say one sign of Alzheimer's is that you can't manage to cook Thanksgiving dinner. I did fine cooking Thanksgiving dinner this year, despite being very ill, but Christmas? Understand that we have a very simple Christmas Eve dinner: a honeybaked ham, which of course is already cooked, rolls (bought, not homemade), a very decadent potato dish, and green beans. So I put the potato dish in the oven at 4:30 (it bakes for 90 minutes), and at about 5:45 I decided that I would like to warm the rolls just before we ate. So I turned the oven down to "Warm" and when the timer for the potato dish rang at 6:00, I opened the oven to put in the rolls, and saw -- the potato dish! which had been cooking along at the "Warm" setting for the past 15 minutes.

Pretty soon they will be carting me away to live in a "Memory Care" facility, possibly in the section reserved for people who used to be editors but have now forgotten how to read. Ah well, it's a good Christmas nonetheless. Have another cup of eggnog and maybe a nap (but not on the printer).