December 27, 2011
Christmas Day.
Unlike past Christmases, where the kids were awake and all gifts open by 6.00 am, where I spent the entire day building the Bat Cave, when the kids learned that the Easy Bake mixes were indeed better when cooked, this Christmas morning started peacefully enough.
Peacefully enough after getting up every two hours to the metronomic beat of Frankie's bowels.
At 9.10 my three children, aged 22, 20 and almost 18 were at my bedroom door, hot coffee in my favourite mug in Em's hands.
I guess it was time to get up.
Watching the kids open their gifts is the best part of Christmas for me.
As is watching Stephen.
Because he never knows what I am going to get him.
Mer was stymied by the $100.00 gift card for the Superstore.
Apparently, groceries are the in gift this year.
Keith was thrilled with his Kobo ereader, envisioning all the books he was going to download, read and then tell me all about.
And Em's eyes lit up brighter than the tree when she realized that after 10 years of asking and waiting, she finally received her footie pjs.
There were other things, too.
New tires for Em's car, constituting both a Christmas and birthday gift.
A winter coat for Mer.
The Game of Thrones series for Keith.
And the traditional family board game.
This year: Payday.
My brother and I spent hours playing this game.
If I could only find some time to play it now.
Jasper jumping in and out of the discarded wrapping paper.
Attacking bows, tags, anything that could have been construed as ready and waiting for attack.
Stephen received new winter boots.
Ones he can wear everyday.
As opposed to the other pair he owns.
Lovely.
Warm.
Too warm, actually.
Wearing them cause his feet to heat up so intensely that he can't wear them unless it is the coldest of colds.
Hence a new pair.
Less prone to intense heat.
More prone to daily wear.
A Stephen less prone to complaining about hot feet.
That is a real Christmas present.
And me: the complete 4 seasons of Big Bang Theory, gorgeous Italian glass earrings, the usual gift card from Chapters and opera tickets for the January 21st premiere of The Enchanted Island streamed live from the Metropolitan Opera House:
In one extraordinary new work, lovers of Baroque opera have it all: the world’s best singers, glorious music of the Baroque masters, and a story drawn from Shakespeare. In The Enchanted Island, the lovers from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream are shipwrecked on his other-worldly island of The Tempest. Inspired by the musical pastiches and masques of the 18th century, the work showcases arias and ensembles by Handel, Vivaldi, Rameau, and others, and a new libretto by Jeremy Sams. Eminent conductor William Christie leads an all-star cast with David Daniels (Prospero) and Joyce DiDonato (Sycorax) as the formidable foes, Plácido Domingo as Neptune, Danielle de Niese as Ariel, and Luca Pisaroni as Caliban. Lisette Oropesa and Anthony Roth Costanzo play Miranda and Ferdinand. The dazzling production is directed and designed by Phelim McDermott and Julian Crouch. (http://www.metoperafamily.org/opera/the-enchanted-island-tickets.aspx)
A wonderful Christmas.
Absolutely.
Immediately after opening the gifts, it was in the shower for me in preparation for Christmas lunch at the nursing home.
For once, because it was Christmas perhaps, I actually arrived on time.
My father?
No.
Leaving my mother in a state of fretting, muttering over and over again about how he is NEVER on time for ANYTHING and that after all these years you'd think she'd be used to it but she's not and she doesn't think she will be any time soon.
So she and I proceeded to the line-up.
And when it was our turn to locate a suitable seating area, I felt like I was in middle school all over again.
This seat is taken.
And so is this one.
Until we finally located three seats at the table, seats that suited my mother, as she was able to sit in between me and, if he ever showed up, my dad.
Mum putting my sweater on the empty seat for my dad, so she could have her turn informing chair seekers that this seat was, indeed, taken.
If the seatee would ever show up.
Eventually he did.
I knew he would.
For all his faults, my father would NEVER not show up for the nursing home Christmas dinner.
Not unless he wanted a Janet inspired shit storm of epic proportions reign down on him for the remainder of his days.
And it would.
I've seen those storms.
They can last forever.
His explanation: his alarm didn't go off.
He woke at 11.15.
He walked into the nursing home at 12.00.
Not bad considering he lives about 30 minutes away.
But grumpy?????
Oh yeah.
No tea.
No meds.
No toast.
He didn't start coming around until after dinner.
When he'd been tea'd and fed.
Full belly, happy boy.
After dinner and gift exchanges, I headed back home.
I had my own Christmas dinner to finish.
To be served and finished before Mer worked at 5.30 pm.
Along with the Van Clan was the addition of one of the kids' friends.
Who is always more than welcome at my table.
Polite, considerate.
I have no idea what he's doing hanging around my kids.
A 30 pound turkey, the stock pot of stuffing, oven roasted potatoes, brown sugar carrots, parsnips in cream sauce, homemade Ukrainian dill pickles, cranberry sauce, gravy, mincemeat and pumpkin pie.
This years cranberry sauce was a bit if a debacle.
I ALWAYS make my own cranberry sauce.
Because I ALWAYS have cranberries.
And I do this year.
For some reason, no one can find them, and I didn't have time to look.
Resulting in a quick stop at a convenience store after the nursing home.
Canned cranberry sauce was definitely not a hit in our house.
Dinner was finished in time for the kids' friend to drive Mer to work.
Dishes done, kitchen cleaned up and all before 5.00 pm.
The remainder of the evening was spent playing Bejeweled Blitz on my cell phone while watching the Big Bang Marathon on the Comedy channel.
A wonderful ending to an exhausting few days.
Actually, it was all I could manage by the time the end of Christmas day rolled around.
Mind numbing video games while listening to the funniest program ever made.
Title Lyric: Christmas Dinner Country Style by Bing Crosby
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