More Holiday Traditions:
While I am largely an American mutt, I am 1/4 Swedish, so by default I have always regarded Sweden as providing my ancestral roots. We fortuitously had a store in my childhood hometown called the "Swedish Shop", which allowed me to indulge these cultural leanings by buying advent calendars and buttons that said clever things like "Swedish Power". At holiday gatherings of extended family as a kid, I recall being given glasses of "glug" - this was good. Less good were holiday "treats" like pickled herring and lutefisk (codfish cured in lye (no lie!)). Owen's first grade class had been studying Christmas traditions around the world in the weeks leading up to the holiday, so it was with interest that he and I recently reviewed the Swedish Chapter. We especially liked the idea of Santa Lucia day, where on December 13 the oldest girl in the family dresses in a white gown, makes sweetbread and coffee, puts a wreath with lit candles on her head and wakes everyone else up to eat the treats and drink the coffee. This sounded like a much better tradition than eating pickled herring, so we were keen on trying to incorporate it into our family. The plan falls apart, of course, at the bit about the oldest daughter doing all of this, as we inconveniently do not have an oldest daughter. Owen, somewhat unwisely suggested to Deanna that she do it. This suggestion was met with the kind of withering glare and sharp retort that might be expected from someone who spends more than enough time concocting treats for the rest of us without taking on the added risk of setting her head on fire. Oh, well.
Speaking of treats, while Deanna and I may be compatible in parenting styles and a million other ways, there could not be a starker contrast between us when it comes to cookie compatibility. She comes from people who like their cookies soft, gooey and full of meringues, gloppy fillings, etc. In other words, barely edible. My people like our cookies hard like a Scandinavian winter (see above for more about my rich Swedish heritage), made with butter and/or lard with a crust of hard frosting or a sprinkling of sugar. Real cookies, like spritz and thumbprints (world's best cookie!). This incompatibility rears its ugly head each holiday season, when Deanna effortlessly cranks out a zillion cookies, most of which I simply don't like. I was apparently a bit more vocal than usual about that this year, because Deanna was actually indulgent enough to make me a big batch of spritz dough. I then spent an hour wrestling with our cookie dough gun, loudly complaining that it was a piece of inferior equipment. As it turned out, I simply had no idea how to properly use the damn thing, since when Deanna finally became annoyed enough to come see what all the fuss was about, she proceeded to crank out several trays of beautiful cookies - the only ones that later turned out to be actually presentable to guests. Then, while checking on my actual baking of the cookies, Deanna discovered that I had placed an unbaked tray of cookies in the oven on top of an already baking tray of cookies. After we all had a good laugh at my expense, I inexplicably did the same thing again! It was then that we all decided we were best going back to our old system of Deanna making whatever she wants and me subsisting on tins of thumbprints slipped to me periodically during the holiday season by my mother.
As we were driving towards church on Christmas morning, I realized from various comments being made by the twins that since they knew we were going to church to celebrate Jesus' birthday, they believed Jesus would physically be there. Not just in spirit, mind you, but wearing a party hat and smiling as a bunch of Kings and sheppards, and us of course, sang happy birthday. Mary supervising a game of pin the tail on a real donkey - best party game ever! Plenty of loaves and fishes (hopefully not lutefisk!) to go around, no matter how many guests show up! I'm picturing Jesus excitedly opening our gift of Rock'em, Sock'em Robots - much cooler than the boring old myrrh. Anyway, assuming it would be in our best interests to dissuade them of this live Jesus notion on the way rather than in response to loud inquiries in church, we did our best to engage in a rushed bit of 3-year-old theology. Why we still celebrate the birth of someone who lived 2,000 years ago is not an easy concept for them to wrap their little 3-year old heads around, as suggested by Cooper's continuing litany of questions throughout the service and since. My favorite moment however, was when we were still in the car, and I had just finished explaining that Jesus was a baby 2000 years ago and that nobody can live for 2000 years. Owen, a big Harry Potter fan, then not-so-helpfully interjected from the backseat "Unless they have the Sorcerer's Stone." Oy.
I hear next year Mary and Joseph are having Jesus' party at the Roller Rink. Should be cool. Hope you all had a wonderful holiday season and Happy New Year!
