Christmas with the Sleepys

It has long been tradition in the Not-Sleepy family to open our gifts on Christmas Eve. I'm not sure what started that tradition, but such it has been for as long back as I can recall. When Tim and I got married he was marginally appalled at the idea, but since we spent the first several years travelling between my family and his, we still most often ended up opening some gifts on Christmas morning and compromise was found. This year since we had both my family and his family living nearby, I created a plan of attack that would've made Sherman proud and got a nod of approval from both families.

Usually on Christmas Eve, prior to opening presents, we have a Christmas Eve service right there at home. Growing up, I suspect this grew out of the fact that my father is one of seven, most of whom are incredibly musical, as was grandma. And grandma loved nothing better than to have her boys sing. So most of my Christmas Eve memories revolve around hymns and carols being sung at grandma's house with a level of musicality that has, sadly, made it a challenge for me to appreciate the average church choir. Even when we stopped going to grandma's house we continued the tradition of hymns and carols and the reading of Luke 2 with just our family. And while the number of singers was smaller, we still were the only family I ever knew who managed at least three part harmonies on a regular basis. When the grand piano came to live at my house, so did the Christmas Eve service and the hilarity that comes with having multiple hymnals, all different (so someone says, "Let's sing number 178" and six people start six different carols in six different keys until we finally sort it out, find a version for my sister at the piano that doesn't have five flats or some other really obnoxious key and start again.)

Tim has started sharing sound booth duties at church this year though, so we missed out on our home-made service and bundled the group off to church for the candlelight service. When we got home, we read the Christmas Story (Luke 2 and others this year) and opened our gifts.

My sister and I live in the southern suburbs of the Northern Virginia area, my parents live much closer in and the main road you have to take to get to either sister's or my house is a doosy that mom hates with a burning passion. Because of this, shortly after the Christmas Eve service moved to our house, mom and dad started spending the night on Christmas Eve rather than making the trek on multiple days. My good friend growing up used to talk about how her family would all sleep in the living room together in sleeping bags on Christmas Eve with a fire in the fire place and it always sounded cozy and fun, having mom and dad spend the night is a nice approximation of this with a nod to comfort.

Christmas day is greeted with waffles and vanilla sauce. Daddy is my sous chef for this and does a bang up job on the sauce, though we had a near miss this year that was saved by his habit of licking the spoon. Seems I forgot to add the vanilla and it's not vanilla sauce without the vanilla! Happily, stirring it in the made sauce caused no issues and a significant Christmas crisis was averted.

(There is a bit of contention between Tim and the rest of us regarding the purpose of the sauce. Tim seems to feel that it should be an accompaniment to the waffle. We tend to see the waffle as a structurally sound delivery vehicle for sauce. However, Tim insists on carefully dabbing sauce into the holes of the waffle - and only into the holes of the waffle - and we just smile and decide that means there's more for us! My sister brings her own contention the table as well, since she likes her waffles to be sickly white and limp - cooked only enough to solidify the batter with nary a hint of golden brown. I prefer my waffles to crunch, even after liberal application of sauce. I try to make a few that will meet her exacting standards of undercooking in the interests of diversity, peace, and good will to all, but it just seems wrong to take out the poor little waffles before they've had a chance to get good and warm. )

Tim, daddy and my brother-in-law descended (after helping to clear the table) to wreak havoc on the forces of evil. Mom, sister and I put in Cheaper by the Dozen (the original one, not the travesty that Steve Martin made) upstairs so I could start lunch prep. This was one of the simpler meals I've made and I actually got to sit and watch the movie while holding my sister's brand new puppy for a little while this year (nothing is better than a puppy.)

Our lunch menu consisted of Warm Roasted Mushroom and Feta Salad, Potato and Celery Root Mash, Blue Cheese Gougeres and Horseradish Crusted Tenderloin with Cranberry Compote. (Though I forgot to serve the compote so I have a bowlful of it and very few leftovers to use it with.)

Tim's folks and sister came about fifteen minutes before lunch, just as the saucepan of milk and butter for the gougeres boiled over then got lumpy beyond my ability to undo, the potatoes needed draining, and I determined that despite my best intentions to try and make the tenderloin closer to medium than medium rare we were going to have to make do with medium rare. (Yes, yes, I know cooking a tenderloin that much is a travesty, but there were many amongst us who do not eat meat that has any pink at all, let alone something that, should you listen hard enough, you might hear a moo.)

The blue cheese things were quite tasty though none of us could decide how to pronounce "gougeres", though having made them I now am fairly sure it's French for "Pain in the Tuckus" cause if the base wasn't boiling over then the amount of flour you double checked has turned it into glue rather than the "soft dough" the recipe describes and you're getting weak trying to beat the lumps out and the eggs in until you finally hand the pot to Tim and he even is getting tired before the mixture resembles anything that might be dough, though it's now really more like batter so you figure it's going to run off the trays and onto the bottom of the oven. But they didn't and they tasted quite nice.

And no one seemed to miss the compote.

After lunch and another round of dishwashing, we opened gifts with Tim's family and shortly thereafter as we were deciding between White Christmas and Cars, they decided to leave. So they left, and mom and my sister and I watched White Christmas then finished up Belles on Their Toes (which had been started before lunch) while I made an apple strudel for dessert (though the dough turned out strangely and I think it's because the house was a little cold, it still stretched pretty well and was crispy after baking.) It was our dessert after a minor diabetic crisis on daddy's part (which was handled with grace and aplomb by my sister) that sparked the idea that it was, perhaps, supper time and the leftovers (and compote) were put out and feasted upon.

Everyone left shortly thereafter, Tim did all the evening dishes while I rested my feet which had just begun to throb, and then I headed off for bed because I have no vacation and thus am back in the office today while Tim enjoys the Week of Tim, Part II. (I asked him if he was sure he didn't want to go back to work and he thought for a moment and said, "Hmm, I think I'll go back next week." Can't say I blame him.)

It was a busy but fun day, full of family.