The One About the Holidays

The holidays were slightly different at my parents' house this year.

For one thing, I have to refer to it as 'my parents' house'. It used to be my house. But now I have my own place (which I share with a pirate and a surfer and our menagerie), and, despite the fact that it currently has a gaping hole in the ceiling by the front door, I am very proud of it.

On the Eve of Christmas Eve, all I wanted to do was wrap presents, clean the ferret cage, pack, clean- the usual pre-holiday stuff. My roommate (the pirate, not the surfer) wanted to throw a party. A big, loud, beerpong playing party.

In college, I was the Queen of Beer Pong. It was my favorite sport. Now, I enjoy an occasional round, but not in my own home! Not when it means I have to move my Christmas table cloth and my delicate centerpiece and hide all my wonderfully displayed holiday cards!

I was not a happy camper. That's why, an hour and a half into the party, I went downstairs and watched Clone High.

So Christmas Eve dawned on an undecorated house and the strong stench of stale beer. I have no problem with parties. In fact, I am having people over for nibbles and cocktails on New Year's EveNING. But I feel I have moved past the stage in my life where it is acceptable to wake up to a plethora of empty beer cans. We're adults. This is our home. Let's party elsewhere and then come back to a clean, calm environment.

At least, that's my take on it.

Anyway, after many irate calls from my family between the hours of eight and twelve, I arrived at my parents' house a little before one on Christmas Eve. I'd chipped my manicure on a beer can, but other than that, I was full of jollyness. I exchanged gifts with my sisters (a tradition leftover from a time when the hours between Christmas Eve and Christmas morning stretched out towards infinity). I cooked (best recipe of the holidays: Cheese Curry Pate with Plum Sauce). There was the traditional Christmas Eve viewing of 'A Muppet Christmas Carol'. We had a great party with friends and neighbors, then filled our wine glasses and headed into church.

In our living room.

Through a strange series of events, my family has become entirely opposed to organized religion and the people who dish it out. So this year, we had seventeen people sitting in our living room for our own, home-grown Christmas service. Wine allowed. Shoes not required. My friend Hilary and I planned the hymns- it felt sort of like putting on a play. My sister and I sang Oh Holy Night and my mother cried. I almost cried, actually, when Jaimie was singing her solo. She's just gotten so grown up and beautiful. Tear. The message (we don't believe in 'sermons' at The Church of the Living Room) was delivered by a friend of ours and, I believe, reached a lot of us. Good church. Best service I've been to in a long time.

Christmas morning inched it's way into my life much later than I expected. My youngest sister let us sleep until eight-thirty. We opened stockings, then devoured the pile under the tree. I always want to drag my feet on Christmas morning: linger a little longer over the stocking stuffers, unwrap slower. It's all over far too fast. Then we're cleaning up and getting ready to head over to my paternal grandparents' house before my mother's family arrives at two. Of course, cleaning up this year went a little slower as it involved many Mimosas for everyone over the age of 18.

We expected Christmas with my Mom's family to be calmer this year, as all the male cousins were attending the Ravens' football game. The holes now burnt into my mother's ceiling (from outdoor firecrackers set off indoors) hint that it may have been the most raucous Christmas yet.

And now I'm back at work, which is always anti-climatic. But there's another holiday to prepare for in two short days. And that one's always trouble!