I have a few theories based on historical data about my (Santa) Christmas gifts to my kids, husband, and self. Since our youngest is still a believer, we all benefit from the red-suited guy and his magical offerings.
- Hannah will love her gift for four months until it’s out of style.
- Sarah will love her gift, but after 48 hours it will need to be cleaned up and then it will mysteriously disappear.
- Carolyn will love her gift for precisely four weeks, then it will rotate with the other fifty she loves.
- Nova will laugh at his gift and shake his head, and eventually give it back to me or give it to someone else.
- I will use my gift every single week until next Christmas when Santa brings a new one.
Have you formulated any guesses? Hannah’s is clothes, Sarah’s is a circuit game with batteries and connections that make things glow or rotate, Carolyn’s is a stuffed dog (with a game code), Nova’s is a workout band and jump-rope that (in theory) he can take to work; except last year when Santa brought him Nicorette gum, it was a complete waste (and rather expensive). And mine is a running log that I buy online every year and Santa always brings a new one–I know, so predictable, but Santa loves me for that.
Can you theorize why I can post this without my darling family members finding out their gifts? That’s right! They don’t read my blog. Wonder if Santa can do something about that?
With three girls and a husband who will eat anything, I intimately know four distinct persons and their taste buds. No single day highlights those differences more than Thanksgiving. The holiday offers its mainstays, and I enjoy them all, so I make them all. Rest assured I’m not an overachiever at this task, no Martha Stewart in this house; I usually make the easiest variety of everything. And no single item is as easy as the Ocean Spray cranberry sauce from a can (the smooth one, not the chunky one) because that is my husband’s favorite, even over the homemade variety I made several years ago. This is one item, however, my youngest won’t eat and my two older girls only tolerate. And therein starts the discussion…
One loves mashed potatoes, but the other two are so-so on the taters. Two kids love stuffing; all three like the turkey, but one will eat more than the others; one likes her bread almost doughy so if I mess up and undercook dinner rolls, she’s happy. One only likes the marshmallow topping on the sweet potatoes, not the gross mushy stuff underneath. One will always ask for more ambrosia fruit salad. One does not want any food to touch each other—including gravy touching what it’s not supposed to touch. She’ll even rinse off her plate before reloading to make sure no remnants contaminate fresh helpings. And then there’s my husband who doesn’t take a bite unless things are mixed together. None of the kids like pecan pie and my husband thinks it’s too sweet, but my in-laws and I like it in small pieces, so we had some, but I’ll probably be eating the rest myself.Two will only have pumpkin pie on Thanksgiving, but it won’t compete with chocolate or ice cream on subsequent left-over days. And all three of my kids won’t eat the crust at the end of the pie slices, so they give them to me. Love me some pie crust.
And these are the details that fill my brain: Who eats what and how. I hope there’s still room in my mind for when they grow up and have their own husbands and kids, because multiple grandkids generated from these three will probably all have modified taste buds, too. Except that’s probably a task I can leave up to the parents and establish my number one house rule—Okay, kids, if you come over to Grandma’s you’re eating what Grandma makes and it might be mushy or doughy or instant or from a can, but if you don’t want your crust, Grandma’ll help you out, and she’ll even give you a hug (or a fist-bump, you know, depending on your preference).