On the eve of Christmas Eve, there is absolutely no doubt that boycotting Christmas was the best idea for my little family. 

We arrived in Santa Fe early this afternoon with the perfect build-up to peak the children’s interest-- mine as well.  As the car got closer to Santa Fe, and farther from the rest of New Mexico that is depressed, desolate and devoid of white fluffy snow, the mountains coyly showed us their winter hats.

Yesterday’s snow had left small deposits of snow on the side of the highway and the children begged with all their heart to flee the car and touch the snow. Strict parents that we are, we deprived the children of fondling the foreign weather matter. In an effort to build to the perfect climax, we held the children at bay and kept them from grabbing paltry hands full of icy snow until they could touch the real soft, plentiful snow in Santa Fe.  Foreshadowing, well, iPhone Weather, told me that five inches of powder awaited us in Santa Fe.

Like an experienced lover, the parents didn’t disappoint. The wait was worth it as we drove in the secluded driveway of our holiday house and the children tumbled out the car doors before The Professor could shift into park. 

“Out of the snow until you change your clothes,” we screeched in typical everyday (as opposed to vacation) parent fashion. 

The key to my aunt’s house worked like a charm, but I couldn’t find the alarm keypad in time to ward off the Sheriff’s appearance. As I pleaded with the security official over the telephone,

“We are relatives. I have the security code, but I couldn’t find the alarm panel in time to enter the code. Put on your clothes!  It’s 26 degrees. No, not you. I’m sorry. My children are naked and looking for snow clothes, but the alarm is howling in the background and I can hardly hear you. Don’t touch that drum!”

After we bid the Sheriff farewell, The Professor spends an hour pouring hot water on the snow in the driveway so that our car can break free from the trap that has snagged it.  I am sure people who often deal with snow know some better secret than boiling hot water to melt it, but we’re from Texas. Hurricanes are our specialty.  We know nothing about snow.

No matter how dire he looks, I cannot assist The Professor in his quest to free car, for my sole mission of the day is to find the Internet connection.  I have been warned that there is no wireless high-speed connection, and I have mentally prepared for how life with dial-up will be, BUT the fact that my fancy MacBookPro doesn’t even have a hole for a telephone connection causes me to contract the vapors.

Meanwhile my enterprising daughter has appropriated a plastic toddler rocking horse and re-purposed it into a sleigh to race down the hills.  Never mind that I should warn her of cactus at the end of the hill, or help my husband put wood under the tires – again, my single focus is to connect to the Internet, and I must succeed.

The fourteen-hour trip from Austin to Santa Fe found me replying to my friends’ emails or text messages within minutes of receipt, but now in the tranquility of the arroyos and big blue sky finds me untethered to my main base. How will I know what my friend bought at IKEA? How will I monitor the progress of my friends’ first married Christmas?  Will I be the last one to know if Josie got the engagement ring from Dan? What about the blogs I read? Will the authors melt in despair without my witty comments?

The Professor, who is the antithesis of handy, somehow manages to free the car from the snow. The children, who are relentless, manage to court frostbite and beg to come inside for hot chocolate. I, who am dogged about my Internet, give up hope and begin to build a fire. Oh, the fire. No exaggeration, it took me an hour to build the fire. Finally, I gave up and opted for a rest in the Japanese bathing tub, which is three-foot deep circular tub with jets.  While soaking in a combination of buttermilk, coconut milk, cream and milk (SumBody Milkbath-get sum), I hear a popping noise. Wrapping my dripping body in a fresh towel, I race to see what my children are destroying, but instead find a roaring fire!

The Professor arrives with tasty groceries that include yummy champagne, cheese and nibbles to satisfy the wee people.  I stop moisturizing my naked body with lemon crème lotion gifted by my Secret Santa and depart the roaring fire to don my domestic impersonation.  That crafty Professor stuck the champagne in the snow when he came home, and within thirty minutes, frill and chirp fill the air.  We cook. We drink. My daughter lights the Christmas tree and my son builds a fine Lego tower.

Since we couldn’t find the switch to light the chandelier, we had no choice but to eat by candle and fire light. Out the window the big, full moon rises over the mountains and Die Zauberflote fills the air.  The perfect moment.  This is Christmas. This is it.

After dinner, the champagne ends, but the picturesque evening continues as The Professor sets aside Middlemarch to lead the children in making a paper chain to decorate the tree. I want to weep, but instead use my aunt’s cast iron skillet to brown a ham bone and bits of ham left from dinner to make a soup.  As I scrap the sticky meat from the pan, I wonder which of my ancestors has used this pan before me.  Pouring a bit of cold coffee (as my grandmother taught me) to deglaze the pan, the steam bursts forth and fills the room with the smell of “home”…no matter that it is not our home.  The connection and fondness toward relatives is deep and transcends gifts.

LOVIN' this Christmas (except for the part where I am sitting in a hotel lobby posting this.  Still no Internet.)

Comments

[hokgardner]

THank you so much for sharing. Your Christmas sounds lovely. And the picture of the moon is fantastic.

[Liz]

You know, I'm not real happy with you. I haven't been able to find time to write FOR A MONTH because my family insists on having a Christmas. And your out there, shunning Christmas and I get back to my feed and you have TWENTY new posts?

No, lady, all the blogs you read werent missing your witty comments because the rest of us were forced to endure the craziness of Christmas and gave you nothing to comment ON. Oh, I'm angry and jealous. Angry. And. Jealous.