New Traditions: Our Christmas Eve

For the most part it seems nine months have been sufficient to acclimate ourselves to the 'new' culture we're living in; comfort and routine are things that now come easily in everyday situations.  The out-of-the-ordinary, however, is where we start to experience that heavy weight on our shoulders--not so much as a result of doing things like birthdays and holidays in a foreign culture, but more-so because we're doing it on our own.  John and I are both used to the delightful chaos of family holidays, so the weight of bringing something good and joyous to our girls all on our own is unfamiliar and intimidating.  And, who are we kidding?  For those who celebrate it, Christmas is the end-all, be-all holiday in the land of kid-dom.  So, John and I developed a strategy (as is our wont). It might not have been a very good plan...or an environmentally friendly plan...or one that will teach our kids the true meaning of Christmas, but what our plan lacked in responsibility, we more than made up for with child-like enthusiasm (and a pinch of consumerism).

Historically, our Christmas Eve's in the states are usually spent with family in fancy dresses, eating clam chowder or italian wedding ball soup.  Then we go to church and listen to a lovely sermon and sing Christmas hymns or watch kids perform a hilariously imperfect pageant.  Either way, the night always ends with the smell of a hundred extinguished candles after singing O Holy Night in the candle light--an event that often leads me to tears.

This year could not have been more different, but never hear it said that it was any less joyous.  We spent our Christmas Eve in happy preparation for the big day; mashing potatoes and prepping the turkey.  We also flitted around our district, picking up packages that had arrived just in time for Christmas.  Bailey, most notably, spent an entire tram ride alternately patting and smooching a package from her Auntie Em.  When the Bear and I got home with our package, we were greeted by the sight of the (real!!) nativity set that had serendipitously arrived just in time to celebrate Jesus' birth.  What really got our jolly spirit rolling, however, was that magical besmooched box from our Emma.  Not only did she send a ridiculous number of presents for the girls to put under the tree, but she also included a selection of Christmas cookies (that none of us Gamelin girls were able to make with each other this year) and homemade marshmallows to go with the hot chocolate mix she also made.  Wow.  Who needs Santa?  Emma saved the day!

After dining on some Raclette for dinner, we bundled our girls up and headed out into the night to look at the best of Vienna's best Christmas lights.  It was the most deserted we've seen the first district in a long time and it was just lovely to wander around listening to the girls exclaim over every new kind of light they saw. We walked under the grand chandeliers lining Graben and stopped to exclaim over the curtains of lights on Kohlmarkt before doing the rounds to see the gigantic red baubles gracing Rotenturmstrasse.  Stephansdom cathedral was beautifully lit from the outside and we stepped inside to listen to a bit of the Christmas Eve mass.  It might not have been in English and there wasn't any chorus of  "O Holy Night" drifting through the hall, but the smell of Christmas eve permeated the air--the smell of hundreds of candles extinguished; lit hours before in prayer for others, they blessed me too.  That smell brought back to me the memory of every other Christmas Eve I  can recall.  Once we exited the cathedral, we finally conceded to Audrey's wishes to return home (she thought the lights were great, but she was also starting to realize the sooner she went to sleep, the sooner it would be Christmas.)  So, we carried our tired babies down Kartnerstrasse and home on the tram, where Audrey had decided to suddenly convert to a Santa-believer.  I'm assuming the logical side of her realized it was obviously more profitable to believe in this guy...and the part of her brain that loves to live in make-believe couldn't resist the idea of a jolly old man leaving presents behind.

Just like that, we were launched back into the magic of Christmas.  The girls put on their Saint Nicholas Day jammies, we drank Emma's cocoa topped with fluffy marshmallows and indulged in some more Christmas cookies. Then came the snuggling on the couch in the light of the tree, listening to Papa read The Night Before Christmas.  We even left out cookies and milk for the big guy, because, let's be honest, who knows whether Audrey will permit there to be a Santa next year or not.  As we huddled together in their room for bedtime, I read the girls the story of the night Jesus was born and had a lengthy conversation with Audrey about protocol for the morning, including, but not limited to: 1) who was in charge of waking whom in every conceivable combination of scenarios 2) Which doors John and I were to keep closed, so's not to disturb the big guy, and most importantly, 3) That if either John or I saw Santa in the house, we were to immediately return to bed and not disturb him. 

With my orders thoroughly understood, I tucked my girls up in bed, likewise, with orders for dreams of sugarplums and flying reindeer.

I'm sorry to say that John and I totally disobeyed Audrey's orders.  We were up into the wee hours, watching It's a Wonderful Life and putting together the completely ludicrously enormous doll house that had been, until then, sitting in it's packaging in my closet for months.  It took us three hours (with some serious teamwork) to get that thing together.  But as we flopped, exhausted into bed after eating Santa's cookies, trimming the tree with candy canes, hiding the dollhouse from view and loading the floor around the tree with presents, we realized: this is the first year we've done Christmas.  Just us.  We pulled Santa duty all on our own.  It was hard work and it felt good to know that we were doing it right...if only for this moment--this year.  We were doing right by our girls and carrying on a magical tradition.