The Holidays

I've always loved the holidays.

Christmas was honestly the most wonderful time of the year when I was a little girl.

I would begin singing Christmas carols on December 1st, sometimes even on the day after Thanksgiving. I would anxiously wait for the snow to come and create a beautiful and pure winter wonderland. As December wore on, I became more and more excited to go to my grandparents house.

Christmas at my grandparents house was always so traditional. A bit because of our own traditions, and a bit because of the classic traditions my grandparents followed.

What I consider Christmas started at around 5 o'clock on Christmas Eve. As a family, we would drive up about 45 minutes to my Dad's grandmother's house. We'd spend the evening trading presents, playing board games, and generally playing around with our first cousins in the incredibly crowded house. My grandmother had 8 children who all got married and had multiple children of their own, and so on, resulting in a HUGE family gathering.

At about 9 o'clock we'd drive home. Every year I would fall asleep in the car, and even though I would wake up when we got home, I would pretend to sleep on, so my dad would carry me into my bed and tuck me in.

With the morning came presents. I woke up relatively early, excited for the long day ahead. My parents had taught my sister and I about St. Nicholas, who Santa was based off of, so we always knew the truth about Santa.

After unwrapping presents, we'd go to church for the nativity service, and quickly leave after to get on the road. The Christmas day road trip to my grandparent's house in retrospect wasn't that long at only 3 hours, compared to the current 10, but boy did we dread it every year.

Exactly at the half point of the car ride, we would stop at a Waffle House in Wapakoneta, OH. Every year. Without fail. The waitresses that were stuck with working Christmas day, always remembered us, and our single annual appearance.

Finally, after 3 excruciatingly long hours of sleeping and staring out the window at the corn fields covered in snow, we pulled up at my grandparents house.

My sister and I would run up the walk surrounded by snow to see who could use the knocker first. Of course our family could always hear a loud clunky van coming from a block away, so their surprise was always ruined.

One of the best parts of Christmas for me was the entire atmosphere. It was as if my grandparents house was doused in magic from the 24th until the 31st. My grandparents live in this fabulous cozy little home with the best backyard and a magnificent garden.

Every year, without fail, my grandmother goes through the pains of decorating the entire house with stocking and dolls, right down to the little light up villages that ran along all endges of the rooms, decked out with little figurines and tons of fake, sparkling snow. My two favorites I can picture clearly: one with a little ice rink that had automated magnets underneath it, perpetually dragging three smiling ice skaters in looping figure eights, and the other with the none other than Mr. Scrooge spinning in circles in the top room of his office with the ghosts of past, present, and future. These were more entrancing than the tree and even the little automated train running around it (although I had my fair share of playing with that).

I could go on for ages and ages about her decorations, how their house looks out on the perfect snow, into the backyard where we even saw a bright red cardinal, many a time.

Christmas dinner was probably the most traditional part of the holiday with the exception of the decorations and atmosphere. We'd all sit in the beautifully lit dining room and go through our meal, with all of our plates and utensils (even the fancy unnecessary ones) and share a classic holiday meal together, with my added chocolate milk, of course.

Christmas was always the best time at my grandparents'.