Tradition...Tradition!

I am a big fan of traditions...doing things the same way connects me to my past and my future, by living it over and over again with my family.  The other night I was talking to a friend about traditions that I just CAN'T live without at Christmas.  Of all the traditions we have, one is always singled out as kind of strange.  We eat breakfast before we ever see the tree.

I always thought this came from both my parents, who were raised on working farms.  But, and my mom can correct me if I have this wrong, this eating breakfast thing came from my dad's side of the family.  You see, he and his brothers had to get up to do the milking.  A bit before Christmas they would milk a little earlier each day so that on Christmas they could get up and get it done and get on with the fun!  But, his mother, knowing what was under the tree and in their stocking, thought they should have a bit of the healthy stuff first.  It just occurred to me that I don't know what they ate, but for me growing up we always had cinnamon rolls and grapefruit.

Also for us, a blanket covered the doorway into the living room.  It wasn't a great blanket, but one that was just the tiniest bit see through, only enhancing the magic of what lay beyond.  I cannot begin to tell you the anticipation level of walking by the blanket and seeing the glittering of lights, though just barely.

We did whatever we could to get breakfast going, including the painstaking cutting of the grapefruit halves into sections.  We started breakfast with a prayer, kneeling around the kitchen table, then we would eat.  I would dump a pound of sugar on my little half a grapefruit, eat only the sugar part, and pick at my cinnamon roll.  (so much for the healthy part for me...)We would finally be done, and my dad would say something like, "I wonder if Santa left me a little treat by my sock..."  My mom would go and get his little carton of half-and-half, and we would wait ever so patiently (not!) while he ate a dish of cornflakes with his cream.

At last, the dishes were in the sink, I was first in line at the blanket (being the youngest DOES have it's advantages!) with everyone lined up behind me.  My dad, who would go in to make sure everything was just so, that the fire was burning nicely, would come to just the other side of the blanket from me, lift the blanket carefully off the nail, and we were in!

 The sight of the tree with it's overflowing of presents (Santa's sleigh tipped over...again!) and my big red stocking with the funny toes at the end, filled with peanuts, an orange, a pop (a rare occasion), a pack of juicy fruit, a roll of life savers, and a candy cane sticking out was just beautiful.  Next to it a box of sugar cereal (a rare occasion) and the prize from Santa.

We watched everyone go through their stocking, as there was often a little treasure stuck inside, and then the handing out of the gifts.  Dad's favorite job.  And we watched, one by one, as we opened each present.  Because of breakfast, and our slow one-at-a-time process of opening, we would start getting phone calls before we were through!

I know that Christmas isn't about things, or who gets what or who got more, but about the baby Jesus laying in the manger, part of a new family, who went about things in a different way than they could ever have imagined.  It's this image of a family that is so strong at Christmas time.  That's what Christmas morning is about to me.  It's about starting it together, about being excited together, about going in to that magical room together, and taking the time to watch, listen to the ooohs and aaahs and the (mostly remembered) thank yous...together!

Oh may my children have the magic of Christmas in their hearts!

 Above: Christmas Breakfast 2009 (We have a little bit more to eat, and John gets chocolate milk instead of cream).  Below, Christmas line up 2008, the first year in our home.