I look forward to the slower pace of January, February, March when my brain isn't on overdrive. Still, there is something magical about this chaotic time of year. I thought it might be nice to break away from the usual here on Heroines of Fantasy, and instead revel in the joy, the excitement, the special moments with family and friends.
It lingers for days--on your clothes, in your house, your hair, cats, rugs. It doesn't matter if you've cooked it, or only had it brought to you. I am pretty sure that the twelve days of Christmas has its origins in how long it takes for the smell to dissipate.
In my home, we don't do the traditional seven fishes on Christmas Eve. We go out for dinner, because Christmas Eve is cookie-baking day--a tradition all its own, and not even remotely related to being Italian. Well, except the feeding people part. It started when my oldest was a junior in high school. I don't know why I waited so last minute to bake the Christmas cookies that year, but I had. With all the ingredients out and ready, I was not prepared for my daughter's million friends to drop by--but they did.
For the next several hours, my kids, my daughter's friends and I mixed and baked and ate cookies and talked and laughed and ate more. I went through about a gallon of milk, a box of tea, and several dozen cookies, but it was one of the best Christmas Eves on record.
We continued the tradition through high school, then college, and even after they were all out in the world, doing their thing. One year this one couldn't make it, another year that one couldn't. Whoever could make it, came. The tradition continues to a lesser degree with the other kids' friends. My oldest daughter, now married with a child of her own, still comes home every Christmas Eve to bake cookies. Once in a while, one of the other "kids" will drop by. It's enough.
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