Christmas traditions

On our commute to work the other morning, my wife, Carissa, complained that the formerly live Christmas tree we had purchased the day before had cost eighty dollars and was barely six feet high. Apparently the Bethesda tree market did not compare favorably to the tree market in Boise, our previous home. I made a mental note that seventy dollars for six-feet of conical-shaped Fraser fir was a tipping point for Carissa. In fact, she said that next year we are buying an artificial tree.


I volunteered that I was okay if we never had another Christmas tree again, real or artificial. That was a miscalculation. It was as if I had just revealed that I was thinking about experimenting with crystal meth or that I had a pregnant girlfriend or that I had forgotten to turn my socks right-side out when I tossed them in the dirty clothes hamper. Carissa spoke in a decisive, assertive, authoritative tone (Morgan Freeman himself would have heard her and said damn, girl!). She said that WE WILL ALWAYS HAVE A CHRISTMAS TREE (yes, she actually said it in all caps and italics). I weakly responded that it made economic sense and that it seemed we had identified a cost threshold but she cut me off and said that we were done talking about the subject. Then she yelled and gestured at a woman in a Volvo for not letting her merge into the exit lane.

We weren’t always so beholden to Christmas traditions. Carissa and I were married nine years before we had children. We were in one of those mixed marriages, in that my family always opened presents on Christmas Eve while her family always waited until Christmas morning. So we compromised and started our own tradition of opening presents as they arrived instead of waiting for some magical day to arrive.

That tradition ended with the arrival of our oldest daughter, or at least ended prior to her second Christmas when she was old enough to appreciate the lazy parent's be-good-or-Santa-won’t-bring-you-presents guilt trip tool. I would enjoy hearing about some kid who actually was so bad that Santa didn’t bring him any gifts. Then I could use that kid as an example to prove that the threat is legitimate. There are years when my kids are naughty beyond belief right up to Christmas Eve, but the next morning there’s still enough presents to stock an Amazon.com warehouse waiting under the tree.

Oldest daughter, Cabo San Lucas, Christmas 2006.

Another tradition we developed one time: Not traveling to see family over the holidays. Before that, we strictly adhered to the standard of congregating with family for the holidays, even when they lived hundreds of miles away in opposite directions. At the time we were living in either southern Idaho or Wyoming. One year we would drive east to Nebraska for Thanksgiving and west to the state of Washington for Christmas and vice versa the following year. Eventually we wearied of icy Wyoming and eastern Oregon roads. So one year we went big and spent Christmas in Cabo San Lucas eating nachos and drinking margaritas in the sun by a pool. After that, we decided to just stay home and avoid the stress and hassle of holiday travel. Staying at home means less time with extended family, but it also means less Fox News and sleeping on pull-out-sofa beds. Christmas at home also means that after single-handedly eating a meal large enough to sustain a small village, I can immediately put on my stretchy flannel pajama pants and commence with the beer drinking and football watching.

Speaking of gluttony, not spending time with family at Christmas has its downsides. We can't show up and eat too much delicious food prepared by others, for one thing. But we mostly follow the food traditions we learned from our parents. On Christmas Eve we fix oyster stew. Our children maintain the tradition of all children hating oyster strew. I threaten them that Santa will not bring them any presents if they don't eat their stew, and then pretend I don't notice that they eat Christmas candy and cookies for dinner. 

Chocolate-peanut butter Kryptonite .

On Christmas Day we eat a mid-afternoon feast with ham or turkey and all the trimmings, including a corn casserole from a recipe handed down to my wife by her mother. Ingredients include creamed corn, butter, spaghetti pasta, and Velveeta, the one time of the year the use of the cheese-like product is sanctioned in our kitchen. Decadently rich. But my mother's pingpong ball-sized chocolate-dipped peanut butter balls are my true kryptonite. I can and have eaten them until I have slumped into a food coma. My mother has moved to the D.C. area to provide some much welcomed help with our kids, so my confidence is high that my near future will include chocolate-dipped peanut butter balls.

This Christmas we will continue creating our own traditions in our new home. We have visited the national Christmas tree in front of the White House. After my earlier misstep on the subject of our personal Christmas tree, I obediently nodded affirmatively when Carissa asked me if I wanted to attend services with the family at the Washington National Cathedral on Christmas Day. After church we will come home and feast on turkey and creamed corn casserole, and then I will slip into flannel pajama pants and binge on chocolate-dipped peanut butter balls.