Christmas Fun

It's the evening of December 26th and the Dykstras have all arrived safely home. The last minute gift wrapping and buying frenzy of December 24th was soon followed by 5 adults enjoying the evening of Christmas with one nightcap each. And then, not 24 hours later, we're home. Safely.

We celebrated our homecoming in a way befitting the travel-worn: Potbelly's subs and a cheap Merlot I had on hand. The fridge didn't offer two scraps of food for dinner. More correctly, the fridge didn't offer two scraps of food that made sense together: ranch dressing and olives, for instance. We had clearly raided and purged the appliance before we left. Sub sandwiches hit the spot.

The holiday was a little difficult for my husband; I'll be honest. This may have been the last Iowa Christmas we spent in the house in which he was raised. There is a lot of sentimentality about it for him. I can understand. His parents are making plans to sell the house in order to move to a more maintenance-friendly establishment. Understandable, certainly. But it is no less difficult for Dan.

This was the first Christmas that Morgan will probably remember. We arrived in Iowa on Friday. It is the habit of the Dykstra family to put gifts under the tree before Christmas. Morgan thought is was time to open presents when we arrived. We had to firmly implant the days of the week in her head. Christmas was on Tuesday. We had to wait for Saturday, Sunday and Monday to pass. We must have been fairly effective in our lessons, however. Morgan woke up Christmas morning with the announcement: "IT'S TUESDAY!!! IT'S TUESDAY!!!" So much for "Merry Christmas" greetings. Years from now, Dan and I will be rocking in our chairs at the nursing home bickering about memories and dates but we will both remember that this year, Christmas fell on a Tuesday.

It's safe to say that we ate too much, slept too much and drank too much for Christmas. But it's the holidays and I, for one, have a firm policy of celebrating irresponsibly when it comes to calorie-counting. My sister-in-law introduced me to an unforgettable drink called "White Christmas". It calls for a low-ball of nog with a shot each of Southern Comfort and White Chocolate Liquor. Heavenly.

I was a bit of a hypocrite, however, when it came to my daughter's eatings. Morgan has a chronic constipation problem so I monitored her food intake like a hawk. No corn. Less bread. And no sweets unless she had adequate fruits, veggies and constipation medicine. By the end of the trip, she kept touting her menu of "helfy" foods in order to earn a piece of chocolate. Earn is an apt word, by the way. There was no way I was going to go through a 17 hour bout of constipation with my daughter again if I could avoid it.

But now we're home. Morgan has unpacked her loot and is particularly enjoying the baby doll high chair. In fact, she invited me to a homespun tea party tonight in which the high chair played center stage. Boy, that was fun.

There's more unpacking to do, but it can wait, now, can't it? Technically, it's still vacation.