I’m living in a White Christmas
As a child, Christmas Eve’s Eve was spent at Great-Gramma Dorothea’s house, Christmas Eve at my mom’s side, and Christmas day at my dad’s side. Each space had its own tradition. There was always cheesy potato cassarole at Gramma D’s, handmade pillowcases at Gramma J’s and silly shenanigans with my younger cousins at Gramma Potter’s. There was a very specific agenda we followed each year, and looking back, I cherish those memories.
After my family moved to Colorado in the middle of my eighth grade year, the holidays were a little different. Kansas City was a long way away, and so my mom, dad, sister and I began our own little Christmas traditions. I’ve never spent a Christmas Eve without my family.
This year, my sister is spending Christmas Eve with her boyfriend and his family. She’s going to pick me up from our house on the way out to Mom and Dad’s in a little bit. My roommate Lara is having dinner with her family at their house. For the past quite-a-few-hours now, I’ve been sitting in the reclining chair wrapped in my bathrobe, watching White Christmas play continuously on television. I ate a lavish holiday meal of frozen pizza dunked in a ranch/Cholula blend and cried at all the commercials. At one point, I finally gave up trying to figure out how Vera Ellen’s waist could possibly be so tiny and drew a hot bath. I sat in the tub with the bathroom door open, White Christmas playing in the front room, “Santa Baby” radio playing on Pandora, and singing at the top of my lungs. Now I’m sitting in my bath towel drinking a rum and coke, right back in my reclining chair in front of Bing and Rosemary.
Making new traditions isn’t always a bad thing… And who knows what next year will bring.