It is a recent weeknight, and my offspring and their partners are celebrating. Alcohol is flowing, pizzas are on their way, and Will Farrell is streaking on TV in the movie, Old School. The conversational humor is robust: hilarious stories about peeing while participating in a conference call at work, ZOOM faux paus while believing the audio is mute, and co-workers oversleeping and arriving late to 10:00 a.m. virtual meetings. Cheers erupt when Evan snatches a beer bottle in mid-air after it is knocked over by an ebullient dog.
The scene is not from a TGIF event after a hard workweek; it is how our family celebrates one of the holiest national holidays – Christmas.
When my children were young, I had a different vision about how we would celebrate the yuletide. Though we are not a religious family, it was one steeped in tradition. The morning would begin by opening stockings filled with small tokens and treats. Then I would serve breakfast, a healthy but gala affair. After eating, we would retire to the living room and gather around the tree which bowed under the weight of lights and ornaments. We would open one present at a time, and the recipient of each gift would choose and deliver the next present from under the tree. Opening gifts in series instead of parallel prolonged the unwrapping and inspection of each one. Gifts would be passed around eliciting admiring exclamations. The festivities would last for hours.
But my adult children have a different vision of holiday merriment – something akin to a college fraternity party but with more expensive beer and fewer red SOLO cups. They are lavish in their gifts for one another—well at least those who have female partners in charge of shopping. The pets score an orgy of stuffed squeaky toys and a plethora of savory treats, after which they collapse with happy exhaustion. My job is to sequence and time the festivities and provide snacks and desserts. I do my share of dog wrangling, as well, to ensure that canine carousing is consistent with some level of decorum. I am mostly successful; well, except when Bailey opens the back door with her paw to allow her and the youngest member of the pack to escape to the backyard and frolic with nighttime zoomies. I keep an alert eye out for surreptitious table sniffing – and banish the untrustworthy pup just before he leaps up to snatch someone’s dinner.
As the evening winds down, the drinking wanes and coffee brews. But worrying Mom is part of the fun; my now-sensible adult children cannot resist teasing me about needing to drive home before their buzzes wear off. My husband and I retire gratefully to bed afterwards, heartfelt appreciation topped with a dash of relief. If the truth be told, I am heartened that our celebration traditions reflect who we are inside – grounded and unpretentious. I may grumble, just a bit, about my sons grabbing cookies before the dessert buffet is assembled, but it reminds me that our family is intact and loving. If I cannot admonish my kids for something, then my precious mother-hen identity would be extinguished.
I have a few days left to relax and rejuvenate before planning a New Year’s Eve gathering. Maybe we will close out 2020 in a more formal way than we have in the past, given the solemnity of this year. I might even cook some portion of the meal, and I will wear my very best blue jeans.
Given that, I am sure that we will be the classiest tailgate party in the parking lot at the dog park.