Marathon Christmas

I grew up thinking this was normal.  I grew up thinking a lot of things were normal, myths my roommates have quickly dispelled.  You mean everyone doesn't have four Christmas trees and a 30-hour Christmas?  I supposed now you're going to tell me everyone has more than three cousins, too, right?

Christmas Eve
3:00pm- "Get in the car now!"

4:00pm- We start Christmas where all Christmases should begin: in church.  We pass the bulletin from one end of the pew to the other, share notes, and split a half a piece of gum thirteen ways.  You think I'm kidding.

6:00pm- "And WHY are you snow blowing in your Christmas suit?"
All thirteen of my maternal side of the family is gathered in my aunt and uncle's kitchen.  We're munching on meatballs, shrimp, and the world famous cheese dip.  We need something in the stomachs as we begin a long night of alcohol consumption.

7:00pm- "Maybe we should open presents." 
"Yes, that bow is beautiful on your head." 
"What kind of tape did you use?  It's impossible to rip!"

8:00pm- Grandpa and Grandma get a fifteen minute head start (we even use the microwave timer) to light candles and turn on lights before the entire party mobilizes to Grandpa and Grandma's house.  We open presents first from my grandparents and second from my aunt and uncle from out of town.

9:00pm- Grandpa and Grandma serve us pizza subs on paper plates just to have some substance during our night of grazing.  "Sure, I'd love some blackberry wine."

10:00pm- My family's turn for the fifteen minute head start.  There are advantages and disadvantages to being the last house in the round-robin.  The biggest disadvantage is that the hair and makeup need remedial help before the photograph in front of the tree.

11:00pm- "Who wants to be Santa?"

12:00am- Grandpa and Grandma decide it's time to go home.

1:00am- "Someone has to eat my food!"

2:00am- We karate chop the remaining family out of here, clean up the kitchen, and set up for the morning.  Time for bed!

For the next four to six hours visions of sugar plums dance in our heads while Santa flies over head.

Christmas Day
8am- "Santa's been here!"

9am-  The family gift exchange and Santa presents are opened on Christmas morning.  Dad gets coal.  And the grille to go with it.  Mom cries when she opens the puzzle photo collage of my sisters and me growing up.  My flannel jeans from Cabela's miraculously fit!  "Dad, I got you a six pack of beer just because I can.  No, I don't want one." 

10am- "Get in the car!  We're late!"

11am- "Are we there yet?"

12pm- Growing up, my family was always the last to arrive at my paternal grandparents' house.  Some traditions die hard.  Christmas dinner will be served at two.  I regret not eating more than a banana for breakfast and dive into the chips, fudge, and pie on the kitchen table.

1pm- I'm in a photo war with Travel Buddy, my uncle who's a professional photographer.  I take literally 178 photos.

2pm- The Charlie Brown Tree. 
Every year my grandparents go to the tree farm and find the most ridiculous tree in the $5 bin.  It's too thick to put ornaments on it.  It's so thin you can see through it.  It has two tops.  They then barter until the owner lets them buy the tree for $3.  They give him a $2 tip.  This year the tree branches needed to be transplanted, so they got it for $2 with a $1 tip.  Remember, the camera adds ten pounds.

3:00pm- "This restaurant is only open twice a year, so you'd better dig in!"
Thanksgiving dinner is remarkably similar to Christmas dinner.  The main difference is that the men are actually allowed to sit in the dining room with the women rather than being banished to the kitchen.  We pass rolls by overhand tossing, make the misbehaving adults sit at the children's table, and, heaven forbid, we forget the olives.

5:00pm- Photo shoot! 
Each family.  "At least pretend like you like each other."  All the girls.  All the boys.  "Stop that!"  Three generations.  "Where'd Grandpa go now?"  All the granddaughters.  All eleven of us.  The stray people we picked up on the street.  All dogs.  "Ok, my camera's memory card is full."

6:00pm- "Yes, I'd like a brandy old fashion, please.  We're going to be here for awhile."
Commence the longest present opening extravaganza in the history of present openings.  Grandma hands the first present to Tina.  Tina opens it, throws the wrapping paper on the floor, and examines it for fifteen and a half seconds before she must stand to pick and hand out the next present.  If she surpasses her allotted fifteen and a half seconds, the entire crowd shouts, "PICK A PRESENT!"

7:00pm- Fifteen minute intermission to fill the glasses and empty the bladder.

7:15pm- "Pick a present!"

8:00pm- "PICK A PRESENT!"
Every year Grandma and Grandpa give each of their four grandkids a gold ornament engraved with our names, the year, and "Love, Gma & Gpa."  After twenty-some years, Wal-mart stopped making the ornaments, so Grandma had to get creative.  This year she bought some silver ones from Target and engraved them herself.

9:00pm- "Pick a present" brouhaha is finally over after three hours of present opening!  Grandma and the four granddaughters sit in the heaps of wrapping paper for the annual photo.  Grandma boasts that she is 71 and can still get down on the floor.  We help her up.

10:00pm- Grandma asks who brought the iPod for the traditional Christmas Day dancing in the kitchen.  No one has music; no one has the energy to dance.  The men are Wii bowling in the kitchen.  Grandpa's winning.  "That's an awful nice purple dress you've got there, Jim," Greg says, and the crowd rolls.  Grandpa's using my Mii.

11:00pm- The food comes back out for those who are hungry.  I eat some cherry pie, little smokies, sweet potatoes, and fudge.  In that order.  "Shhhhh!  Someone may be sleeping."

12:00am- That someone should be me.  But we're having too much fun retelling old stories, hacking up lungs, and laughing hysterically.

1:00am- That someone is me.  It's the only night of the year when I can sleep with socks on because of the heat problems in the old farmhouse.  Yet I sleep with a smile on my face.  Another great Christmas!

I love hearing about Christmas traditions.  What are yours?

<>< Katie

Happy birthday, Daddio

"Lunch? Noon. Love, Dad."

That's all the email read.  Luckily, I knew lunch our usual lunch location: the family pub on the lake.  This particular fall day, I arrived first.  I got a table but rather than shivering at the sight of the white caps, I flagged down the waitress.  I put in our drinks order, a root beer for me and an iced tea for Dad.  I then confided in her and shared a secret.

"It's his birthday," I whispered, pointing to the seat where my father would sit at some point.  She nodded and disappeared.

"You beat me here!  First time in your life," Dad teased about my punctuality.  I'm never later than a minute or two, but our restaurant is a few blocks from his office and fifteen minutes from our house.  Combine that with the fact that I was a college student home on fall break who'd rather be in bed at noon and you tell me who's going to arrive first.

We enjoyed our meal and as we finished up, I heard the maracas in the kitchen.  I bit my lip as to not spill my own beans.  I didn't think I was successful, but I still enjoyed the look on Dad's face when they serenaded him and placed an ice cream dessert in front of him.  I "got him" and got a good laugh.

As we were walking out we walked past his former secretary who happened to be having lunch with some friends.  "Now wait a second.  Your birthday's in June," she puzzled with a smile.  It was October.  A girl's got to do what a girl's got to do.

Dad is notorious for taking his "four girls" (my two sisters, my mom, and me) out for our birthdays, sneaking around the restaurant, and surprising us with a birthday serenade and free cake.  We all hate it.  We all love it.  As we've gotten wiser, so has Dad.  Since he's not allowed to leave the table during dinner, he's hired accomplices.  We know what restaurants will participate in this tomfoolery, and we've been known to sing ourselves in those that don't.  We've decided to bypass this mortifying tradition and enjoy a peaceful birthday dinner at home instead.  My birthday's in early August, and I make sure we eat every meal at home from late July until mid August.  You just never know when it's going to be your birthday TODAY!

Sure, we've turned it around on him a time or two.  Like when we went out on Christina's birthday but told the waitress it was Dad's birthday instead.  Or the time we made him wear the menu on his head while they serenaded Mom.  But that's what's go great about the October celebration: it was just a taste of his own medicine and he had no idea it was coming.  Not going to lie, I was pretty proud of myself and I did wish the rest of the family could have been there to see it.  Oh, well.  Maybe tonight we'll go out for lemon marang pie.

Happy birthday, Freddy Buttless.  I love you more than the grains of sand all mushed together.  Love, Sandi Beech.

<>< Katie

Te Amo or Te Quiero

As per tradition, the night before a mission trip our friends gather on the floot and pray over those leaving.  Last year when I went to Guatemala, Amber prayed in ASL.  This year Amber was headed on an ASL mission trip, so I teased about praying in Spanish.  I wasn't actually prepared to do that, but I did end with some Spanish just for kicks and giggles.  I said, "Dios, Te amo" or "God, I love You."

Unlike in English, Spanish has multiple words for the word "love" and multiple ways to say, "I love you."  When I first learned how to say "I love you" the teacher taught me "te amo," but I've since learned it's an intimate love typically only used between husband and wife.  A better term to use on a daily basis is "te quiero" or more of a friendship love.  I'm slowly working "te amo" out of my vocabulary and felt dumb when I said it in our prayer.  Not really like Amber knew, but I knew I used the wrong type of love.

The more I was thinking about it, the more I decided I didn't actually mess it up.  I want to know Him in an intimate way.  I want to be able to say to Him "te amo."  Don't you?

Te quiero,
<>< Katie
PS. The last part of our mission trip tradition will come to fruition on Sunday when I return to campus and take a window marker to Amber's car... dun, dun, dun. :-)

Oh, and by the way, where's the spell check button on the new blogger?  Sorry!

Beer with the Boys

Every year, the weekend before Thanksgiving, my dad goes up to my grandparents' house. He and my grandpa deer hunt throughout the weekend before my dad comes home again, works a few days, and we all go back to my grandparents' for the holiday.


When this tradition started, they were serious about getting deer. The year was a let down if they didn't get at least two nice-sized deer. I remember years when they were worried about exceeding the limit of two deer per man. Well, it's now been several years since they've gotten a deer.


In recent years, they'd get up at the crack of dawn, go hunting for a short bit, and spend the rest of the day sitting in a friend's kitchen solving the world's problems over some beer. The fellowship of the four of them turned into a bigger deal than the hunting itself. The hunting was a pretence to go sit in a tree in Herb and Arnie's yard, watch the sunrise, then sit in Herb's kitchen for the next several hours.


Well, it's now been a couple of years since Herb and Arnie were both living at home. My first day of college Arnie passed away. This past New Years' Eve, Herb passed away as well. Even though my dad and grandpa can still hunt on the land the used to be Herb and Arnie's, it was just too hard.


Dad and Grandpa went out and started the morning in a normal fashion, but it came to a quick end. Instead of continuing the hunt or returning home, they took a six pack of beer and went to the cemetery. This isn't the first time they've broken a few laws to have some beer with the boys.

<><>