Traditions & What's in the Oven

It’s Christmas time. I have deadlines. I still have gifts to buy. I have a bird that is waiting for me to clean out its innards. Oh, joy! I have to go sit on Santa’s lap. Oh, joy! But that Oh, Joy! isn’t sarcastic. I love sitting on Santa’s lap.

Now all you dirty little minds stop going there. I know . . . it’s hard not to go there. I mean, we don’t really know what Santa looks like under that red coat and beard. He might be Brad Pitt. Well, he could be! Don’t ruin my fantasy!!! And for goodness sakes, don’t do what my agent did last year and send me a link to an article where a woman was arrested for sexual assaulting a mall Santa. And can you believe she asked if I was visiting that town? When I sit on Santa’s lap, I behave. I have to. I have my family all around me.

Seriously, the man under the red outfit isn’t why I enjoy sitting on Santa’s lap. I enjoy it because well, it’s tradition. I can remember being young and Mom taking me and my two brothers to Sears to hop up on the Jolly Ol’ Soul’s lap and tell him what we wanted for Christmas. I pretty much knew the truth about Santa, but it still felt magical.

Then during my first Christmas with hubby, on a whim we piled on top of Santa for a picture, and without realizing it, I had created another tradition. A Craig tradition. Every year, the Craig family goes to the mall and stands in line for an hour or two, sometimes even three hours, to get our pictures with Saint Nicolas. You can bet your bottom dollar that I hear whines. “Why do we have to do this every . . . every year?” or “I swear Santa pinched my butt!” (This one coming from my husband!) or “You are not putting that picture out, I look fat.” (This one coming from myself.)

But then, when I bring out the pictures every year, it never fails, the person who whined the most, spends the most time looking through the images. In 24 years, we’ve only missed one year, and it was because we were in Alabama taking care of my dad after his heart surgery.

I know I’ve blogged about these pictures before, but this year is special. (And it’s not because I’m sure it’s Brad Pitt under the red suit. But like I said, don’t tell me it’s not. This is my fantasy!) The reason this year is special is because we have a new addition to the Craig family. No, I didn’t dump Mr. Craig and get a new man. And no, Mr. Craig didn’t decide to run off with Santa last year. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again, in spite of some of Mr. Craig’s flaws, he’s a keeper.

The new addition I’m talking about is still in the oven. My daughter, who yesterday I swear was asking Santa for a Care Bear, is pregnant with my first grandbaby. Goodness, where do the years go? (See this years picture and just for grins I'm adding the one when I had my son in the oven.)




Christmas Past . . . . . . . . . . . .


. . . . . . . . . . . .Christmas Present









Yes, that means, I’m gonna be a grandma. But the first person who calls me granny is gonna get their merry little butt kicked. And if you don’t think I can do it, talk to the bird that just had his innards removed.





In all seriousness, Christmas is a great time to reflect on all we have. And I don’t mean the gifts under the tree, I’m talking about friends, family, and loved ones. So hug someone you love a little tighter. Tell someone you don’t get to see very often that you miss them. Smile at a stranger. Give someone who needs it a helping hand. And laugh. Laugh a lot. And hopefully this holiday, you’ll take the time to curl up with a good book. Hey…if it’s Divorced, Desperate and Dating, that’s even better.

So here’s what I’d like to hear from you. Tell me about one of your Christmas traditions. Tell me about the book you hope to curl up with this holiday. And oh, yeah . . . tell me what man you imagine is under the red suit. (After seeing Brad Pitt old in the clip about his upcoming movie, I might be rethinking my under-the-red-suit man.) Or share with me a few grandma stories. Hey…I’m about to become one.

Merry Christmas!

Crime Scene Christie