Happy holidays, all. It’s that time again, the season to jingle and make jolly, to dust off annual traditions, SMILE, and plaster our sweet silly HAPPY selves all over social media. It’s time to share with the world that we, too, all live wonderful lives, especially in December.
You have some special holiday traditions, don’t you? I’m talking about those rituals we engage in, over and over again, with friends and family. It doesn’t matter how you define family or which holidays your family observes. The subject here is the traditions themselves, the rituals and customs that lend a life-force of connection and give a family its own unique fingerprint.
Caroline Kennedy says this about family holiday traditions: “Christmas can feel like a lot of work, particularly for mothers. But when you look back on all the Christmases in your life, you’ll find you’ve created family traditions and lasting memories. Those memories, good and bad, are really what help to keep a family together over the long haul.”
When it comes to holiday traditions, I like mine fine, but I’m open to looking at new ways to celebrate, too. Sometimes. You quickly learn about the compromises of tradition when you become part of a couple. A case in point? An early Thanksgiving with my husband’s family. Here’s what was for dinner: Vegetable beef soup. No, that wasn’t the starter course. That. Was. IT. Delicious and nutritious? Yes. An acceptable alternative to Thanksgiving turkey for the recently wed Rices? Oh, hellz, no. Sometimes the art of compromise can go bite itself.
A fun part of becoming a couple is that you can start your own traditions. (If your own parents allow it, right?!) In our early years, Rice and I enjoyed Christmas Eve with extended family, appetizers and wine, all followed by a candlelight service at church. After our first child, Alex, arrived, we switched things up, opting for an earlier church service, followed by appetizers and wine. When Babies #2 and #3 came a bit later but only eleven months apart, getting the whole crew scrubbed and into their holiday finest for church became an Olympic event. On top of that, Santa and the term “some assembly required” entered the equation. Christmas Eve became more complicated, and a BIG FAT debate arose as well: To wrap the gifts or no? In my childhood home, Santa’s gifts were never wrapped. Who ever heard of Santa delivering wrapped gifts? You guessed it. Jimbo Ricebob, that’s who. In Rice’s childhood home, EVERY present was wrapped because EVERY present came from Santa. O Compromise, O Compromise….
During the childrearing years, Rice and I did pretty well, keeping the compromises of tradition in check. From the time the kiddos were wee, they each got an ornament in their stocking, something reminiscent of the year they’d experienced. You know, a ceramic cello to commemorate one starting orchestra, a porcelain diploma to remind us that another’s graduation was around the bend. These ornaments got labeled and dated, and each year the kiddos added their own collection to THE family tree. Note: There were no specialty trees in this household, thank you very much. THE tree contained our family’s story told through the most beautiful ornaments ever to have been gifted. Okay, so there may have been a few tacky adornments along with some DIY decorations and one particularly heinous ornament our middle child, Quinn, got from a boyfriend shortly before they broke up. No worries. The aesthetically-challenged ornaments were lovingly hung on the back of the tree. Our youngest, Daniel, would come down before school on December mornings and sit briefly in the family room just to gaze at THE tree in its glory. How I love that memory. (Below, the kiddos in front of THE tree in the late 1990s.)
Through the years some constants remained: We always watched A Christmas Story, usually while decorating THE tree. We always sang the We Are From Ford [Elementary School] song on the way home from Christmas Eve at church. We always tied a ribbon across the top of the stairs on Christmas Eve after the kiddos were snuggled in. That way they knew to get the nod before coming down Christmas morning all together. Christmas morning meant an egg-and-sausage casserole with Pillsbury orange sweet rolls, THE family favorite, on the side. Each kiddo’s stocking contained individual sundries along with a toothbrush, a set of thank-you notes, a chocolate orange, and, during the teen years, a pack of condoms. Santa may have preferred that the kiddos abstained, but for heaven’s sake, if they chose not to, at least they’d received the safe sex memo.
Traditions come and go, no? For years on the first Sunday in Advent, our family invited friends and neighbors over for an afternoon potluck. That was followed by the lighting of the Advent candle at dusk and a Christmas carol sing-along. The dreaded 12 Days of Christmas became a favorite, with the women taking the even verses and the men the odd ones. Oh, the harmony (and drama) the guys put into those 5 golden rings! I don’t remember when or why we stopped doing those Advent potluck-singalongs. Other spotty traditions include my taking a couple photos where the kiddos pose the same way year after year for comparison sake. (Left, Alex, Daniel, and Quinn, early 1990s; right, same crew, early 2000s.)
For many years, I sent out a family New Year’s card and newsletter. I’m not sure when or why I stopped doing that. Maybe it was around the time it became unclear as to whether Rice and I were still the kiddos’ immediate family, or whether we’d been relegated to “extended” status. Actually, while it’s bittersweet, I can embrace that. If Rice and I are extended, that means our kiddos are building their own lives, anchored with some new traditions. In the words of Abigail, a character in Pat Conroy’s The Lords of Discipline: “The human soul can always use a new tradition. Sometimes we require them.”
It’s true. Sometimes new traditions have their place. A case in point? Picture an adult son, because he loves his wife, going from store to store in search of a Sara Lee pecan coffee cake to enjoy with his wife’s family on Christmas morning. Pillsbury orange sweet rolls be damned. Sometimes a son’s gotta do what a son’s gotta do. For the sake of a new tradition. In the name of love.
So, yes, new traditions can have their place. You know THE tree I’ve talked about here? Beautiful as it was, it was also lots of work. Besides, it hasn’t been the same since the kiddos moved out and took all their ornaments with them. I’m learning to enjoy a smaller, modernized version of the tree (below), supplemented by a few tabletop minis to commemorate special memories (further below, my Happy Hour and Thursday Night Slashers’ tree).
If the human soul can always use a new tradition, maybe I could spruce up our household’s mishmash of Christmas stockings, no? Not that I planned to replace the kiddos’ three beautiful hand-appliqued stockings their Aunt Tina lovingly crafted for them years ago. But why not swap out some of the old stocking collection I’d piecemealed together through the years when the kiddos added a spouse or partner or grand to the family mix? Why not start with some new fur-trimmed stockings for Rice and me and the grands?
As luck would have it, I found some stockings I fancied on sale. Back home, I laid them out on the coffee table near the mantel, contemplating who would get which one and how I’d arrange them for hanging. They were still there on the coffee table when my six-year-old grandson came for a visit. He saw them and had to touch them, of course, giving extra attention to the soft cream-colored one in the middle.
“Would you like that one, B?” I asked him, somewhat pleased with myself.
He didn’t answer right away but continued running his hands over the indulgent fur.
“JJ,” he finally said. “I like my old stocking better. And I like the Winnie the Pooh stocking you put out for Charli last year when she was in my mommy’s tummy.”
Touche, little man. The newer stockings might be finer with their rustic style and subtle tones, but sometimes a JJ’s gotta do what a JJ’s gotta do.
Britton and Charli will be keeping their old Christmas stockings. Perhaps the human soul doesn’t always need a new tradition after all. Sometimes this ol’ soul knows the value of compromise. For the sake of tradition. In the name of love.
