|inside caption: I want buns of cinnamon.|
The first annual Christmas story.
OK, Alyse says she enjoyed my circa 1996 Christmas eve story. Here’s how things are going two decades later. The younger of the two hockey players is going to be 29 in February. He has a degree in communications, not broadcasting/journalism, but actual clarity in communication between people. He agrees to show up and help me with the Christmas eve meal. When he was little, the Christmas eve gathering was at the paternal grandparents so all we had to do was get dressed and get out the door. Between 10 and 15 years ago, the grandparents had aged to the point that our family started hosting the Christmas eve dinner.
I am a benevolent dictator in the kitchen. All my kids knew how to either follow directions to the letter or hide in their rooms. I don’t care if you want to help, but if you are in the kitchen, don’t even think about free lancing. Guess who - after 37 years hasn’t wrapped his head around THE ONE RULE of the kitchen? You got it, the guy who wins the Big Brain Award every year because he is truly smart and does a lot to keep all 5 wheels going on the Wilson Family Vehicle. The dad, the husband, the grandpa.
Keep in mind, 10 years ago, there were usually 11 people for dinner. This year we are down to four people: Jean, the husband, the 28-year old male offspring, and the 90-year old mom of the husband. Grandma will be able to join the crowd for Christmas brunch, but going out on Christmas eve would have been too much. So we pack up a nice surf and turf dinner and take it to her. We get home and the three of us are standing in the kitchen discussing the schedule for the morning. Jean needs to bake cinnamon rolls for 17 people to take to the family brunch at her sister-in-law’s house. Everyone knows to stay out of Jean’s way at the cinnamon roll portion of the holiday as dough is very time sensitive. And the year that she forgot to sprinkle the cinnamon on the dough before rolling, because nobody can ever locate a belt and think they can just waltz into the kitchen and ask me if I know where their belt is. Yes I know where it is. It is plain sight in your room and even though I warn them that if I leave my post and walk into their room and if the belt is in plain sight they will not want to be in the same room with me and of course we walk into the room and of course it is plain sight and of course Jean points to it and Jean’s dagger-eyes flash a warning at the kid but she has to get back to the cinnamon rolls so they know they are getting off easy -a-g-a-i-n- but then when she gets back to the kitchen she forgets to sprinkle the cinnamon on the rolls and OK a decade has passed and Jean never holds grudges and she was pretty sure she could let this one go but every dang year when she gets to rolling of the rolls she has PTSD about the year that she forgot the cinnamon and I swear if one of you ever sends me a winning lottery ticket because you feel so sorry for me I will get some professional help….but I digress.
Back to Christmas eve 2016:
Jean is inserting the detergent tab in a loaded dishwasher to run it in the evening so it is empty in the morning. Mr. Wilson, who has just consumed a kick-butt surf and turf dinner that took all day to prepare and took exactly 22 minutes to consume - that Mr. Wilson - forgetting THE ONE RULE, starts rearranging the dishes in the dishwasher.
Jean asks, “What are you doing?”
Mr. Wilson: “Making room for more dishes.”
There are no more dishes. They are all in the dishwasher. and Jean is clearly inserting the detergent tab which means she is ready to turn it on.
Jean states clearly, “ I have to run it now because I need it empty in the morning.”
Well, I there must have been a tinge of something uppity in my voice, because Mr. Wilson decided to make some kind of obviously-attempting-humor remark - and included the label passive-aggressive.
Hunter, the communications expert, sees the blood boiling behind Jean’s eyeballs and quickly defuses the whole situation with this remark, “Dad, I don’t think that was passive, I think that was just pure aggression.”
And a good laugh was had by all.
So, the cinnamon rolls are in the oven. I don’t know how much iPhones cost, but they are worth every penny. All you have to do is ask the phone -by speaking- to alert you in 5 minutes or 10 minutes or whenever you want your next alert. Sadly, my memory is full or I would take a picture of the cinnamon rolls.
Mr. Wilson has scurried through the kitchen a couple times. Clearly, he just needs a little refresher course every now and again. But it is only 10 am, so we aren’t going to hold our breath.
May everyone be enjoying this day as much as they enjoy every other day. Feel free to vent or share in the comment section. I know we all have warm and fuzzy memories as well as blazing inferno memories. Hopefully they all end up being funny s-o-m-e-d-a-y.
Today's regular post is right below.