I love giving home made gifts...which one of the kids would you like?

Originally posted December 15, 2007

I am set in my ways. I don’t like change unless I initiate it. It really should be no surprise that Christmas Eve in the Jacobson household mirrors that of my childhood night before Christmases.

My father thinks this is hysterical and is forever telling me to start some of our own traditions — because I’m a grown up now and because I own my home, yadda yadda yadda. I don’t see why I must make new traditions when there’s nothing wrong with the ones that I currently know.

There’s a reason they are traditions. I just chose to carry them on with my children. That being said, we do have a few that have been implemented since birthing my children.

Now, first, let me tell you that the moment our feet hit the floor on Christmas Eve, we track Santa. The kids love it. We leave the computer up all day long and check in every hour to see where he is. Not only to we check to see where he is, but we feel the need to call everyone we know to tell him. Sadly, I am the one who awakes and bolts to the computer and then call to the children about where he is. As the day goes on, they start to get a little more excited.

My mother, loves to play along, and if we miss our hourly check in, she will call me and ask where is he (she could easily look this up on her own computer, but it’s more fun to call us.) Then, when we give her the report, she turns around and calls her father to update him on the journey of the fat man in a red suit.

This year, we’ll be traveling home from Mom’s on Christmas Eve, so we’re going to be relying on her to call us and update us while we make the trek home.

Since there is no immediate family in the area, and never was growing up, Christmas Eve is pretty quiet. Typically, we hit up the church, and I prefer the latest service I can find. There’s just something magical the carols in a dark, chilly church. Perhaps it’s because, minus the carols, it’s what Mary and Joseph had… cold and dark. I don’t know…

The other reason I like the late service? Because as soon as we walk in the door, I can get the kids ready for bed, ASAP. For the past few years, if we went to church at all we would go to the 4 or 6pm service. After 9 with these two and they are like banshees and I fear that they’ll be swinging from a chandelier because they can’t contain their excitement. When the idea of Santa is gone from their heads, I’ll probably resume finding the latest service that I can.

Once we get home from church, the kids normally scurry into one of their rooms and wrap their presents so that they can put them under the tree. Because we are a family of snoopers, unless someone mails us a package, we never put presents under the tree before Christmas Eve. (Might I also add, that people who do mail us presents typically wait until the last possible minute… and not because they are procrastinators but because we snoop… and there’s a better chance of it still being unopened Christmas morning if they wait.) Well, that and there’s a chance that the dog could get into them. She never has, but she might… you never know.

We start our traditions around 8. I have this timed perfectly. Santa is typically in New York City by 10 and that’s the latest they can be up. They freak if they see that dot in the Big Apple and they are still up. They are just so afraid that they’ll get passed over. Thank God for Norad… how did you guys to get your kids in the bed before that came along??????

We read ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas from a popup book that I received Christmas of 1977, yes the year I was born… 30 years ago. The popups don’t work anymore, but the story is still the same. Over the last few years, the kids have started reading it to me, or taking turns. Then we read the story in the Bible. If we are with my parents Christmas Eve, I make my dad read it. And I’ll always do that no matter how old I am.

When that’s done, it’s time to write a letter to Santa. The kids include any last minute wishes for him and leave him instructions on where his milk and cookies are and where the reindeer food is. They then place the milk and cookies out and head back to the tree and look for one gift that they are allowed to open.

When that’s done, we check NORAD and see where he is. As I stated, the last possible minute they feel they have to get in bed is when Santa’s in NYC, but typically it’s as he rounding Iceland that they jump in the sack.

Once they are in bed, I commence to whatever it is that’s left to do. Most of the time it’s wrap, so I wait until they drift off or lock myself in my room with a good movie and wrap, but this year? I don’t plan on having anything to do Christmas Eve because it will all be done before I head to my moms. I plan on sitting there. Then I plan on putting my Breakfast Casserole in the crockpot, putting all of the presents under the tree, and going to bed….

Because even at 30, I’m excited for Christmas Morning… where there are even more traditions to be had…

and that’s another post for another day… 

Until next time…

Heather

PS. For those of you who would like the recipe for the casserole, it’s as follows – please note… there are no onions, peppers, or dry mustard in mine — and only because my kids don’t eat peppers or onions and I don’t know where the dry mustard is in the store…and i use shredded cheese and regular hash browns, not the southern style. I know I could’ve just typed out what I do, but I know others might like all the extras!

1 bag (32 oz.) of frozen southern style hashbrown potatoes
1 pound of bacon cut into pieces, fried and drained.
1 pound sausage, crumbled, browned and drained
1/2 cup diced onions
1 green pepper diced
3/4 pound cheddar cheese diced
1 dozen eggs
1 cup milk
1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
salt & pepper

Layer the frozen potatoes, bacon, onions, green pepper and cheese in the crockpot in two or three layers. Finish up with cheese. Beat the eggs, milk and mustard, salt & pepper together. Pour over the whole mixture. Cook on low for ten to twelve hours.

Breakfast is ready as soon as you get up!

Originally posted December 17, 2007

Our family loves to be jolly… much laughter… and there isn’t one Christmas that has gone by without a gag gift…

This year is no different…

But it all started many, many years ago…

My mother doesn’t want me to tell this story. She’ll think that you all will think less of her as a mother, but if you are a mother, I bet that you’ve had a similar situation happen to you. I know I have. Like yesterday… but that’s neither here nor there.

Anywho, my brother and I, in true sibling fashion, were arguing, again. Mom had enough and told us, more than once, I might add, to stop. She was in the kitchen doing the dishes and she’d finally had it. She turned to the two of us, glass scrubber in hand, and yelled,

“If you two don’t stop it right now, I’m going to.. to… shove this dishwashing equipment down your throats!”

John and I looked at one another and immediately fell silent.

You know, my poor mother. I never realized just how not nice we were some times (sorry Mom! I’m getting it back 10 fold now I promise!)

We escaped my mother. We left her alone. But we were very quick to tattle to my father about what she’d said and how she’s threatened us when he returned home.

That Christmas there was a glass scrubber wrapped up for me.

The following year?

There was one wrapped up for him.

This went on for years until my mom finally asked us why we gave each other these dish scrubbers.

She had absolutely no recollection of this threat.

It’s been several years since my father or I have exchanged glass scrubbers so this year, I picked one up for him.

Then there’s my grandmother. She’s the coolest grandma ever, but she’s the butt of many jokes as well.

Once we gave my Dad porn, there was no stopping us.

So, last year, we had a little scandal here involving a weatherman who was fired for a nude picture on MySpace. He was shaving…not his face. I used to work with him and my mother knew him so I called to give her the gossip. She told my grandma and I jokingly said, “I’ve got the edited version” to which my grandma said, “Unless it’s the real deal, I don’t want it.” She was joking of course, but it left her wide open.

When the picture circulated around to all the former employees (we got it whether we wanted it or not), I printed it out, “autographed” it, framed it and wrapped it up for my grandmother.

Sometimes I worry that I’m going to give her a heart attack from laughing so hard.

This year, there’s no porn for any members of the family. But she is getting fart putty, an Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader activity pad and an arm tattoo, with a pirate on it…in addition to her real gift of course.

But there was also the year that we wanted to get one over on my mom and we didn’t. I’m so glad too, because it was the year that Christmas almost wasn’t…. but she’d been asking for a rotary cutter and cutting mat for her quilting. Dad sent us out to get them and they looked so much like placemats and pizza cutters, that we almost bought that for her…

Did I mention I was glad we didn’t do that?

Last year, Dad wrapped up a 50% off coupon for mom.

We do stupid stuff like that.

However, this year, I’ve heard that Grandma is fighting back and there’s something funny for me…

And that’s something that I just can’t wait to see…

Until next time…

Originally Posted December 16, 2007

First things first…

Do you know what it means to deck the halls?

I didn’t, so I asked my best friend Google.

And then I felt dumb. Deck? Like decorate… or getting all decked out…

oh well. I really just wanted to throw some fancy trivia your way to make me appear some what intelligent, but guess that’s not happening. I’ll try again next year… 

Decking the halls growing up was an all day thing. And it was mandatory. So were the smiles that you must have while participating. Being grumpy or bah humbug were not allowed, although trust me. There were many years that I pushed the envelope with the Christmas cheer.

But it made my mom so happy for all of us to do it, so even dad pretended as if he liked doing this.

We all had roles in decking the halls and trimming the tree. We would all go and pick out the perfect tree. We all had a say in what we thought we should get, but in the end, it was my mother who made the final decision (as long as it was within the budget that my father had set.)

After we got the tree home, my mom, brother and I would haul out all the boxes while Dad did his thang with the tree. He was responsible for getting all the loose needles out, making a fresh cut in the stump and getting it in the stand, something I obviously didn’t pay enough attention to when I lived there as we all know.

When the tree was placed in it’s spot in the living room, it was then time to get the lights ready. As in true military fashion, with my dad being a soldier and all, there was a system that must be followed.

We used the strands with the big bulbs. Oh how I wished for twinkling little lights. They seemed so easy to deal with but we used the big ones. The strands had no bulbs when we started and we would get the bulbs out of the box. Most families probably left their bulbs in the strands and if they did take them out, there were probably all dumped in a box. Not in our house. When the bulbs were put away the year before, each of the four colors were separated in baggies.

So John and I would then put the bulbs in the strands, but not in just any ol’ way. No, we put them in sequences — green, blue, red, yellow… repeat. We did this until all the bulbs were in and working. We tossed the bulbs that weren’t working and handed dad the lights to which he hung perfectly on the tree. (This is something else that I apparently never paid attention to. The man taught me to change the oil in my car but not how to string lights… amazing.)

Now, while Dad, John and I are working on the lights, Mom is unpacking all of the boxes. She’s getting the ornaments out and her snow globes, and wreaths, etc. While doing this, we’re hearing, again, the significance of each of the decorations. As a child, this bothered me. As an adult? I’m ever so grateful that she did it. At the time, I didn’t realize exactly what memories meant, at least not like I do now.

Ok, so the lights are on and mom’s unpacking, but we can’t decorate yet. First we have to go through the lights, now hung on the tree, and make sure that there aren’t two colors next to one another. Anal? Yes, however, I dare you to find a more perfect tree anywhere in the country. This was important to my dad. Today, I have the little lights and ::gasp:: there are even some bulbs that are out that I didn’t replace… primarily because I didn’t have any extras.

When the lights are on, and the tree is anchored to the ceiling so that little ones or dogs can’t knock it over, Dad gives the green light for the trimming to commence.

The ornaments are all layed out on the floor and we must attach a hook to each of them, because last year we took the hooks off of them and put them in a little baggie… which means they are all tangled up and we spend more time untangling them than we do actually hanging the ornaments.

We talk about where they came from and the memories behind them. While my brother, mother and I are hanging the ornaments, Dad begins to gather the stuff to decorate the outside. Mom of course tells him where she wants what and Dad makes it happen.

The Christmas Carols are going and we’re holly jolly decorating the house. There was always a fire going, but not because it was to set the mood, it’s because we heated our house with a woodstove which meant that we were either burning up or freezing cold depending on where we were in the house.

And let’s not forget the music. The music was all classics… Berl Ives and Barry Manilow… John Denver… all played on the record player. No fancy CDs for us. It’s another great memory for me, the music, and the sound of the records flipping and the slight scratch when the needle set down.

But, when the house was finished, it was great. It was festive and there were decorations that I looked forward to getting out every year… like the knitted know people… and our manger scene, which was missing baby Jesus… he apparently didn’t survive one of the moves and to this day it’s the bottom of a match box with a blue tissue in it and a plastic naked baby. Classy, I tell you. But that’s a memory.

My parents have enough money to buy a new manger set, but I would be devastated if they did.

And then there’s the fish. The fish hangs above the woodstove (even in their new house) and he gets a Santa hat. The fish is one that my dad caught many, many years ago and it was a biggie. He had it stuffed and he gets decked out for the holidays too. (Sometime, I’ll have to tell you the story behind the fish.)

And then there are the stockings. The stockings are old, but all hand made. When my brother and I moved out, Mom tried to give us our stockings. But we made her keep them. Because when I go “home” even though I didn’t grow up in the house they live in now, Christmas is seeing all of those stockings hung. Of course, they aren’t hung by the chimney with care as they would catch fire, but they are hung. It preserves the memories that I try so desperately to hang on to.

The best view of our tree was when we lived in Virginia. One year it was downstairs, but every other year it was proudly displayed in the bay window. And one day, I want a window where everyone can see my tree.

So those are my decorating memories…

And tomorrow I promise a new memory… a little earlier… hopefully… I’ve been working on this one since Thursday… 

Until next time…