By MIKE NASH
Christmas had traditionally been a time for us to spoil the kids. Presents would pile up and spill out from under the tree. On any Christmas morning there would be paper, bubble wrap, and ribbon strewn from couch to table and back.
One year we decided to have an extended family Christmas, so my sisters and my aunt and a neighbor all came out to the ranch to have a sort of “second” Christmas. Some had already had an early-rising, early-mass, sort of morning, but presents were saved for the family Christmas too. We had a large kitchen/dining area with plenty of room to sit. There were a lot of kids.
I don’t remember exactly how many under-10’s there were, but a lot. My wife asked how we were ever going to get everybody to sit at the refectory-type table in the dining area. It would have been over 20 in all.
I had a solution. I had an old door out in the barn, so I dutifully cleaned it up, took off the hardware, brought in a couple cement blocks, and voila!—A separate child table. My wife was skeptical of feeding children sitting on the floor, but she finally saw the wisdom of having no other option.
Christmas descended. Sure enough, everyone showed up, and the presents were stowed under the tree and spilled all over, just like they were supposed to.
The kids understood that we had to eat first, then open presents. Of course, that didn’t stop them from shaking each package, examining each card, guessing contents, and begging older children to read the tags for younger ones.
The Christmas feast went over just like it was supposed to. Brunch, actually. Pancakes, bacon, sausage, eggs, cranberry sauce, fruit…you know, just our average breakfast for 22 people. The kids had a marvelous time at their own table. No one cared about spilled syrup, butter in hair, or anything. The adults had a wonderful time too, no doubt fueled in part by my wife’s lovely suggestion that a Christmas mimosa was just the thing.
And she had plenty of that, too.
While we were being jolly and happy, we adjourned to the living room for the kids to open presents. The gift giving and appreciating was more of a guided chaos than a process. Paper, bubble wrap, boxes, ribbons, and an occasional limb from a doll flew across the room.
We laughed and enjoyed watching the kids take up each new toy. There were large boxes in the den, and we suggested the kids pick up all the paper and wrappings and put them in the boxes.
As the chaos quieted, the adults went back to the kitchen to visit—and have a little more mimosa. The din of the children seemed to be dying down, and all was well. Children filtered in and out. After a while, someone noticed the children didn’t seem to be around.
We began to realize that maybe things were going a little too well. The noise was no longer deafening.
In fact, things were darned quiet, unnaturally quiet.
We went into the living room. It was a large room. I mean this was a ramshackle old farmhouse, but it had some big rooms. The kids had taken the big boxes and partitioned them with cardboard from smaller boxes, built tunnels from one box to the next, covered the open area in between with a sheet, and duct taped the whole shebang together. One of the grandkids exclaimed, “We made our own Christmas Village!”
The toys lay forgotten, at least for the moment, on the sides, on the couch, in the front room, or wherever.
It was a lesson for us all. The kids were playing with each other, making their own fun, and having a whale of a time. Never underestimate the true spirit of Christmas.
