I can only wish that we were more traditionally “television Christmas special” around here. But hard as we may try, we just aren’t. Here is the list of things that will never happen at our house:
- No Carols around the spinet. Not even around the accordion. Certain people think that singing is “way too cheesy.” And I am hiding the accordion on December 20.
- No Christmas pudding. My God, it takes SUET. Don’t birds eat that? Plus, you have to add brandy, currants, and wrap it in cheesecloth. I have no idea where to find cheesecloth. I would substitute raisins. But for the suet? We are vegetarians. And you have to steam that baby for hours. Served with hard sauce. I plan to just serve the hard sauce.
- Stocking stuffers that actually FIT into the stockings. Oh, yes. And stocking stuffers that cost less than ten dollars? Where does one get those? Oh, right. ORANGES. Phffft.
- Leaving cookies for Santa. That one backfired thirty years ago when Santa forgot to eat them. The kids were insulted. I told them Santa was dieting.
- A roaring fire. Global warming. It is supposed to hit seventy degrees today.
- All the family gathered to watch favorite Christmas movies. White Christmas was so confusing to one daughter that we had to pause it twenty times to explain “How did they all end up on that train to Vermont? Why did Danny Kaye get chosen to play a romantic lead, anyway? How could it be seventy degrees one day and snow six inches the next? Was Vera Ellen anorexic?”
- Wassail. Sounds awful.
- A Christmas tree in every room. Those home magazines are evil. One is enough. One is MORE than enough when yours truly is doing both the decorating and the undecorating, while certain accordionists read the paper.
- Gorgeously wrapped gifts with cunningly homemade tags, with gift paper that ties in with the color theme of the tree. Around here, it’s slap on the paper (discounted last year at Costco the week after Christmas), and get a red Sharpie.
- Eggnog. See Wassail, above.
But what we will have is a lot of laughs, maybe some George Dickel (you can chop off my dick, but don’t cut off my Dickel–an advertising slogan that somehow never caught on), a delicious turkey that I won’t have to cook, all the family together, a two-year old who can sing the entire ABC song without prompting a hundred times in one hour, and much happiness.