Christmas. Wonderful, beautiful, glorious Christmas, around which the entire kid-year revolves! For a choir nerd like me, Christmas started in September. I've had my room decorated since the day after my birthday, and I've been looking forward to this since August. It's my favorite time of year! It's everyone's favorite, really. People who say their favorite holiday is the Fourth of July or Thanksgiving are totally kidding themselves, because as soon Macy's Santa Clause rolls onto Thirty-Fourth Street, everybody automatically goes through a metamorphosis that makes you a ten-year-old kid with a Red Ryder at the top of his list. If you don't believe me, go to the mall and just sit there, staring at people.
This weekend marks the true beginning of the season for me. Because, no matter how much we like Christmas, there's always one aspect that we can't get away from.
Relatives.
Now, when you're a kid, this isn't really considered a drawback. My sister still technically qualifies as a younger kid, something that she loathes more than anything. But on the other hand, letting people pinch your cheeks and sitting in a room full of bratty babies with runny noses and Cheerios in their hair is a small price to pay for the annual bag of loot.
Me, on the other hand- well, let's just say that I'm good at faking.
Saturday wasn't so bad. On Saturdays, we have a smaller get together at my aunt and uncle's house in town. They have two boys, three and four. Add Grandma and a couple of other cousins, and we get a real bash, with early Christmas presents from grandparents and Build-Your-Own sandwiches. Not exactly a raw deal.
When I came marching up to the door, carrying our contribution to dinner (Mom's superb Magic Cookie Bars) the first thing I noticed was that my Texas cousins were conspicuously absent. According to Grandma, they had croup. Ouch.
In their place, three weary travelers, relatives from Nebraska, sat sulking in a row on the sofa. It was the saddest thing I've ever seen in my life. My great-uncle and two nameless female cousins, turning the pages of their various magazines in unison like robots. I tried to make contact, but they were completely unresponsive.
After the general greeting, followed by much inhaling of sandwiches and Magic Cookie Bars, my sister, the boys, and I sat staring at the tree while the grown-ups fussed for their cameras. Last year, I had kept well away from the tree, feeling that this whole presents thing was simply for the little kids. I didn't want to look greedy. Well, to heck with it this year. I had been waiting for this all year, for crying out loud.
Every year since I was eleven has been exactly the same. I always get at least one article of clothing, a book, and a couple of DVDs from Grandma, and an iTunes giftcard from my aunt and uncle. This year, I got a GAP hoodie that I have been wearing since last night (mega-soft), a hardback copy of Inkdeath, and two movies from Grandma, and an iTunes giftcard from my aunt and uncle, which I promptly went home and spent on Micheal Buble's Christmas album.
This morning, in good spirits, I was ready to face the larger mass of relatives. Every year, the day after our gift exchange with close(r) relatives, we meet up at another cousin's house for pot luck and a good old-fashioned game of Dirty Santa.
I guess I should explain my Extended Family Policy at this point. My parents have big families on both sides. They both have four siblings each, and then with my Dad there's Grandma's six brothers and sisters, their kids, and other various posterity running about the place. And with all that, while I have an ample brain capacity, it simply cannot hold the sheer number of names. I find it simplest to call everyone "Hey." Oh, like you haven't done it before. "Hey, how's it going?" "Hey, come sit by me!" "Hey, gimme that!"
I got by on my usual "Hey, (insert food/beverage/other inanimate object here)" and then got sucked into the Kid Craft. Last year, it was reindeer food. We mixed Quaker oats with glitter. Hurray. This year, it was taking a long piece of red string and stringing Cheerios on it to decorate your Christmas tree. Hurray.
When I finished becoming thoroughly disgusted with all types of breakfast cereals- not just Cheerios, anything under General Mills- it was time for Dirty Santa.
No, you perves, it isn't "sick" or "wrong" or anything remotely akin to Rocky and Dr. Frank-en-Furter. Dirty Santa is quite simple. You make all the participants by a cheap-o gift that isn't really all that useful. If you're like most of the family, you forget to buy one and just pull something ugly out of the closet that you got from your in-laws. Then everybody takes turns picking a gift. If you actually want any of the stuff that was brought, you can take it from the person who has it. But, once the thing has been stolen three times, it's "frozen" which means that it can't be stolen anymore.
I got a HUGE pillow, Mom got a crappy Christmas DVD, and Dad got a jigsaw puzzle of rams.
Ah, well. If you think about it, Christmas isn't really about getting gifts or eating mashed potatoes. It's about family: putting up with the overcrowded tables, the sticky cousins, and the millions of people who seem to know you even though you can't remember their faces, let alone their names. And when you think about it, if you're in good company, the names don't really matter much. You just enjoy the moment with that person, and laugh with them, and stuff yourself with Magic Cookie Bars, because you can remember moments even if you can't remember names.
Phase One Complete.
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