As I was driving home from Fargo today, singing loudly and completely off key to every Christmas song ever made on the radio, it made me think of everything I would be coming home to.
Christmas Wreaths. My Grandpa Bren loves decorating for Christmas, and generally goes all out with Christmas wreaths. Twelve in fact. And that's just the outside of the house. Imagine my shock and horror when he halved them to only six this year.
Nativity Scenes. My mom recently purchased a giant porcelin nativity scene, placing it proudly in front of our window. My dad also recently cleaned the blinds. But then one fell onto Joseph, who got top heavy and toppled onto baby Jesus, decapitating him. Kind of ironic, isn't it.
Christmas Pinochle. My grandparents Kostelecky have a tradition of playing pinochle every Christmas day after lunch. But what would pinochle be without Bloody Marys for everyone? Civil, that's what. And civil is not a Christmas tradition we practice at my house. You drink, you call each other names, you are family.
He with the most presents wins. At grandparents Bren, each grandchild has to take turns opening one gift at a time so everyone can see what everyone got. Well, when I open a present, it's not going to be exciting to my seven year old cousins. But is it really necessary to taunt me that if I don't open my gifts faster, they are going to hide them? I don't think so.
Decorating opportunities. It's kind of a competition between my grandma and great-aunt to see who can decorate their houses the earliest. However, this year turned a bit extreme. They completely had forgone the Thanksgiving decorations to be ready for Christmas by November 1.
Jazzy. Jazlyn Marie Bren. No, this isn't my new cousin, it's my Grandpa's dog. First, middle, and last name. She's kind of jumpy. She bites if you run, stand up too quickly, or cough in her presence. Each year someone buys her something she doesn't need, and laughs when she skips right over it to eat the chocolates, before later vomiting. I don't see how this is funny, but it generally happens annually.
Yes, my cousin, there is a Santa Claus. Each year, it seems like one of my cousins each year begin to realize that Santa and their parents "team up." In fact, some parents have even told them that Santa is not real. Well, this makes them want to tell everyone, which generally isn't conducive to the rest of the family. So each year, I end up lying to a cousin, and in some cases, convince the ones whose parents said Santa's a phony, that he's real. In fact, one of the nonbelievers heard sleighbells on the roof. It was magical.
Destruction in Wonderland. Stay away from the tree. Don't snoop. Don't touch the nativity. With all of these rules, my cousins and I resorted to finding something more exciting to do. One of them got the brilliant idea to see how far back the chair would rock. Apparently not far. And apparently the walls are not as thick as we thought. He put the chair through the wall. So we covered it up, threatened the two youngest that Santa wouldn't come if they told, and quietly went upstairs.
The Hot Chick he won't marry. While not a Christmas tradition, and rather one of my homecoming, my cousin Ryan has announced yet again that he's hoping I don't bring Christa with me, because, "While she's a hot chick, she wants to kiss me, which is gross, and I'm not getting married, I'm going to become a cowboy." Sorry, Christa. Better luck next time I suppose.
I hope everyone has a very Merry Christmas, and that your family traditions are weirder than mine. Because I would feel a lot better about myself.
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