I obviously have a little problem with my need to stuff my children's heads full of wonderful memories, especially when it comes to holidays. I envision their significant others rolling their eyes as my loving boys share yet another of the countless precious stories of growing up on the farmette with their perfect mother and all of the holiday traditions she shared. One of these days when I am not busy throwing Halloween parties or forcing my boys to press autumn leaves or make paper snowflakes or dye easter eggs or eat bagels with cream cheese and caviar on Christmas morning (that is a new one this year ) I will go to a therapist and get to the bottom of my severe case of Holiday Tradition Envy.
Growing up in a small, waspy, New England town, you are not really exposed to anything outside of the traditional American Christian beliefs and traditions. Elementary School art classes were filled with Christmas and Easter crafts despite the fact that there were a handful of children who did not celebrate these holidays. These students drew landscapes or the occasional menorah while the rest of us sprinkled glitter on our construction paper Christmas Trees. I never really questioned why. It wasn't until college that I began to understand the scope and breadth of cultural and religious traditions from around the world. It was then that my HTE first began, though I convinced myself it was just cultural curiosity.
My HTE became a real problem when I moved to New York City and started having kids. All of a sudden turkey on Thanksgiving, opening one present on Christmas Eve, staying up until midnight on New Year's Eve and Easter Egg hunts seemed trite and mundane. I wanted the seders and the dreidels. The Christmas Crackers and sugar skulls. Where were my Boxing Days and the fireworks celebrating a new year in a calendar I knew nothing about? What about the fasting and feasting? The King Cake and the Yule Lads? I needed some exotic holiday tradition cred fast.
I thought about adopting a tradition from another culture or country, but that seemed a little phony and I am too lazy to read up on all of the history. As much as I love the idea of 13 little Santas leaving gifts in my shoes, I would never be able to memorize their Icelandic names unless Bjork wrote a song about them. Actually no, that wouldn't help. I can't understand a word when she sings. I needed to make up my own tradition. Thus began our Winter Solstice Celebration.
The first year I concocted this tradition, I decided we would celebrate the longest night of the year by lighting candles, eating food with toothpicks and reading books or poems about darkness. The books and the candlelight made sense because it is the longest night and plus the boys loved (and still do) blowing the candles out and touching the hot wax. I honestly cannot remember what my impetus was for the eating dinner with toothpicks part but I probably saw some pigs in a blanket at the Food Emporium. The first year was a success and I still remember reading one of my favorite Children's Books with Scrappy Doo sitting in my lap on the floor.
Through the years our tradition has changed here and there but the basics are still the same. Last year we decided to include other families in our celebration which was a lot of fun, but somehow celebrating the Winter Solstice seems like it should be a quiet intimate affair. When I announced to Prince that we were having our celebration with just the family this year, the normally broody pre-teen started jumping up and down exclaiming, "Can we have apples with chocolate fondue?"
Sure we can. Which led to the inclusion of chocolate and cheese fondue in our annual Winter Solstice Celebration passed on from generation to generation (actually four years). When my grandkids ask me what it all means, I think I may be able to make it sound somewhat legit:
"The Traditional Winter Solstice Dinner celebrates the longest night of the year and also the fact that the day will be slightly longer tomorrow. We eat cheese and chocolate fondue because, well, they taste good" (need to work on this explanation). "The tiny bites of food, tiny cups, tiny plates and tiny appetizer forks we use" (I upgraded from toothpicks this year) "symbolize our need to eat less in order to make our harvest last all winter as well as the small amount of daylight we enjoy in the winter."
"We light the candles at sundown and share stories of night or winter that bring us joy and remind us that the days will soon get longer, the weather warmer and the work on the farm more vigorous."
Time will tell if the boys will continue this celebration, but the fact that they stepped away from the Xbox for a few precious moments to eat, talk and laugh with each other, is a reason to celebrate.
Happy New Year!
