So this is Christmas

Merry Christmas to all! God bless us, every one! The hell you say!

That last sentiment may not fill everyone's heart with the warmth of Christmas, but it does mine and, I'm sure, my mom's, and well it should. Someday "Maggie's Gift" by Katherine Patterson will be considered a Christmas classic on par with Clement Moore's "A Visit from Saint Nicholas" and Charles Dickens's A Christmas Carol.

Our Christmas with Christine's family was lovely. On Christmas Eve I baked bread, made scones, and prepared a quiche for Christmas breakfast, while Christine made a raspberry cheesecake that upstaged the cookies I had been baking all week. It was truly delicious.

Christine and I gave each other our presents on Christmas Eve night. I gave her The Complete Novels of Charlotte and Emily Bronte; Fantasic Beasts and Where to Find Them and Quidditch Through the Ages: Classic Books from the Library of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry by J.K. Rowling; Interview with the Vampire DVD; and The Empire Strikes Back soundtrack. She gave me Lost by Gregory Maguire; Batman: Year One by Frank Miller; I Will Fear No Evil by Robert A. Heinlein, which I never bought for myself only because it has a naked woman on the cover, and I didn't know how Christine would react to that; and a two-month subscription to Netflicks.

I got up early Christmas morning (8:30) to make breakfast. I missed my brother. Every year when I was at home, Evan and I were the first ones up every Christmas morning. Our sister liked to sleep in on the holiday, which annoyed us to no end. We'd be on the couch in our pajamas, unwashed, our stocking stuffers scattered before us, yelling for Dana to get up, which meant waiting for her to shower, get dressed, brush her teeth, put hot rollers in her hair, write in her journal, wash the cat, paint her bedroom, and anything else she could think of to delay the festivities. Once she was up, we would begin to open presents. I'd usually get Legos or Batman action figures and plenty of books. Evan would get sports equipment and clothes. Dana got extravagant gifts that to this day my dad hasn't put together. Mom got rubberstamps, books, and jewelry. And dad got store credit. After years of seeing the gifts we picked out get returned, we began buying him giftcards, although sometimes he'd just tell us, "You bought me this for Christmas; give me $50." Good times.

After opening presents, we'd eat breakfast. Often mom would make the same quiche I made this year along with an amazing cherry bread. Then we'd rush to clean up before the rest of the family arrived. Chris and his family would inevitably arrive first and stay latest, presumably so that Chris could win all of my Christmas candy in poker. Then Grandma and Grandpa would arrive to talk constantly and not at all, respectively. We could hear youngest cousin coming a mile away, already warning us what would happen if we threw our wrapping paper at her. When everyone arrived, dad would pray like Doc Boy in "Garfield's Christmas," and then we'd feast upon meatballs and ham sandwiches and various vegetarian side dishes.

When we had all stuffed ourselves silly, though with enough room to keep munching on cookies, Chex-mix, and chocolate-covered pretzels, we'd open presents. The best part was throwing wrapping paper at each other, occasionally "missing" and hitting our youngest cousin, who bore it with a stoicism that inspired one and all. Then we'd retire to different parts of the house to watch Christmas movies, play games, and chat, all while continuing to eat. I don't ever remember going to bed on Christmas night; eventually, I suppose, we collapsed from exhaustion or fell into sugar comas.

This year, I made breakfast and then watched A Christmas Story on TV while opening my stocking (same house rules here; you can open your stocking any time, but you had to wait for everyone else before presents). Christine's mom was up, but the rest of the family makes Dana look like Speedy Gonzales. Around 10, we ate breakfast and then began to open presents. Mum handed me a huge package. I waited to see what other people had received, a tradition of my family that Christine cannot abide, and after being prompted, tore open my enormous gift. It was the Premier Edition 70th Anniversary Monopoly. I had seen it in a Sam's Club ad a couple of months ago and asked for it, but it exceeded my highest expectations. It was huge! I opened to box with some help from Christine's brother. The pieces are about twice the size of those in my Deluxe Edition, and while they are all the classic pieces, they're fancied up art-deco style. The houses and hotels are metal, the hotels gold-colored in twelve different styles, and the houses silver in four variaties. All the pieces fit into the wooden pedestal board, and it comes with a certificate of authenticity signed by Mr. Monopoly himself. It's amazing. Christine and I played today, and I won, which seemed appropriate, but is rare for our two-person games.

I also received some amazing recipe software. It comes with several cookbooks and a feature to create my own, and so long as it recognizes my ingredients, I can give me nutritional information per serving and can scale any recipe to the amount of servings I need. Christine and I ended up with the remaining seasons of "Friends" we needed, and a plethora of gift cards. Some family friends bought me a nutcracker, which I've collected since I was 10. Christine is afraid of them, though, so I display them at my mom's house. I'll be bringing this one with me when we go up to Michigan later this week.

Christine's aunt, uncle, and cousins came over in the afternoon, and we feasted on ham, sweet potatoes, cheesecake, and, to my chagrin, very few cookies. At night, we watched the Veggie Tales movie, "The Lord of the Beans." It's hilarious. I love the parody of Tom Bombadil, the most annoying character in Western literature. Then we collapsed out of exhaustion.

This week we will celebrate with my family and attend a number of parties with friends in Grand Rapids.

Happy Holidays!
(Only because it's after Christmas, and I want to wish you a Happy New Year as well. Don't go all Bill O'Reilley on me.)