Yummiest Christmas treat

Ah, Christmas. Though this is my favorite of the holidays, I think we can all muster a warm fuzzy feeling for the childhood holiday that brings you the most joy. For my friend Kristen, it's 4th of July, given the big whoop-de-doo it was for her entire childhood town. For me, Christmas morning still makes me all excited and giddy. Sure, it's not the same at 36, but now, seeing it through kid-eyes makes it fun all over again. I get inspired to make Grandma's pecan rolls, stir up some penuche (which Omar can't begin to understand... what's not to understand about butter and brown sugar... who cares if it makes your teeth hurt?), and gleefully place an orange in the toe of each stocking. Why? Because THAT'S WHAT YOU DO. 

It wasn't until I lived with my dear friends Cat and Jules after college that I was dumbfounded to learn not EVERYONE did these things. We almost came to blows while decorating our first Christmas tree together. Everyone knows that small white lights are the only lights that belong on an indoor tree. Cat, bless her, in her woefully misguided way, wanted small multicolored lights. Ok, ok... I guess we had done that one year... I can live with it... But Jules. Oh My... Multicolored, large bulbs. No, I swear I'm not making this horror of a Christmas tree up... Shocking, I know.

Now, you don't have to agree with roommates on Christmas traditions, but when it comes to marriage, you gotta work these things out. Thankfully, Omar is fine with small white lights (could have been a deal breaker otherwise), and he introduced me to the fun tradition of getting a new ornament each year that represents something important from that year. It was a sparse tree those first few years, but we are getting respectable now. Of course, 4 of every 5 ornaments have something to do with babies, being the fertile Mertyl that I am... but I digress..

The other wonderful tradition I have learned is the steady staple of Advent calendars for the kids. God bless the Germans for this great tradition. And God bless Omar's mom for swinging over to Germany at the beginning of December. I was a little shocked when Max's turned out to be Sponge Bob themed, but beggers can't be choosers when you are trying to buy these things on December 10th. 

Usually, our alarm clock is three boys leaping onto our bed, followed by the unhappy elbowing of the twins jockeying for the position between mom and dad. But not since December 12th. It is now the yelling of "Advent Calendars!!!!" as they race to the kitchen. They then realize they don't know the date, come asking, then shriek back to the kitchen.

This morning, Max couldn't get 21 out of it's little pocket. He brought the calendar into our bed and asked me, in the dark, to get it out. I clicked on the bedside lamp, fumbled around with it 1 inch from my face looking for the 21 flap without my contacts. Having found the spot, I open it to find it empty. "Uhm... Max, the 21 is gone. Are you sure you opened the right one?" 

He begins the search in the bed, in the hall, by the back door (he lets the dog out each day), in the kitchen. Nothing. I assume the dog is testing that whole "chocolate kills canines" theory as we speak, hoping to not have to deal with the mourning of the family pet on Christmas morning. 

Omar and I finally drag ourselves out of bed, squish the two of us into one of the tiniest master bathrooms to prepare for the day. I notice a huge scab on Omar's elbow and inquire what new bump, bruise, crush, scrape or abrasion he has yet again incurred at the brewery. He is confused. He offers his elbow to me with a quizzical look of "Whadaya mean?"

Mmmmmm.... elbow chocolate. Warm, mostly melted German elbow chocolate. Delicious.

Now that's a Christmas tradition I could get used to...