My eightieth Christmas… started with chaos
For years my role has been matriarch in charge. My descendants would agree with that label—perhaps too enthusiastically. But recently things have changed. Two years ago the patriarch in charge made a comment at the Christmas table that inspired all. Shortly after he gained his wings. Now only his love and spirit join us.
I prepared for Christmas with my usual mindset of matriarch, despite the fact that I’m living in a Temporary Multigenerational Commune. Chaos, it turns out, thrives in communal living.
I like to plan and I like to plan in advance: the menu, the gifts, the timeline, the attendees, the agenda—all within the timeworn traditions.
This did not happen.
There is no “in charge” in the commune–it’s non confrontational avoidance. Say what you will—but I’ll do what I want…
And when this is your 80th Christmas, you believe some things are written in permanent ink.
Brunch is at eleven.
Bacon lovers will arrive early to help fry it.
Menu will include the breakfast casserole from the Calvin Coolidge Mother’s Club cookbook, circa 1976
We gather happily around the table
We open our Christmas Crackers, put on our crowns and enjoy the meal.
Mistakes were made.
My first mistake was waiting too long to buy the Christmas Crackers. None could be found
My second mistake was not being specific enough about the 11:00 brunch plan.
My third mistake was making a new healthier casserole.
My fourth mistake was not clarifying my need for bacon frying help.
I’m the only Baby Boomer left and the majority are part of the Gen Z generation. Their reassurance was gentle but firm:…”it’s OK, grandma, we don’t need to plan”
At ten o’clock I learned that most attendees won’t arrive until 11:30. At eleven the food I cooked–no bacon– was ready. My neighbor and I sat down to enjoy our brunch.
Meanwhile, my inner matriarch was preparing for a full emotional meltdown.
Instead, I went and sat in a chair.
No one noticed.
Everyone was perfectly self-sufficient: filling their plates, gathering at the big dining table, eating, chatting, laughing and enjoying themselves.
As I sat there, I calmed down and realized that all my self-imposed expectations had nothing to do with the joy of our family being together.
Chaos might not be my preferred style—but love, family and the joy of being together were all mine.