Best Christmas Gift/Painkiller EVER!!!

Still in the spirit of Christmas (you’re about to find out why),  I find myself quoting to myself from the Good Book.  No, not Twilight, not anything by Sherilyn Kenyon, not Sonnets from the Portuguese, not Sequoya’s Syllabary, not Pride and Prejudice, and not How to Coach Volleyball for Dummies … I am speaking of the Bible.  

Quotes like: 

     Matthew 21:16 - "…from the mouths of babes"

     Isaiah 11:6 - "…and a little child shall lead them"

     I Corinthians 13:13 - "So faith, hope, love abide, these three: but the greatest of these is love."

     Psalms 23:5 - "…my cup runneth over."

If you’ve been following my blog, you’re probably saying to yourself, “Ok, she’s talking about a Munchkin again … more than likely, it’s her niece, Da Gurl.”  Well … you’d be absolutely, positively, without a doubt, correct!!  But there is a background story here, too, that factors in my RSD, my uncanny ability to be a martyr, and my skills in the kitchen.  Here goes the story…

Earlier last week, my dad asked me if I would cook Christmas Eve Dinner in the untraditional form of Mexican food.  “Seriously??  I get the honor this year??  HECK YEAH!!”  Six adults and two toddlers … I can plan this!!  What I didn’t plan on was doing it all by myself.  

Fast forward to the early afternoon of Christmas Eve.  On the menu were homemade chicken enchiladas, and cheese enchiladas, homemade green chili, homemade chili con carne, a taco/burrito bar, refried beans, black beans, and Spanish rice.  The Munchkins were napping so I got out the knives, the cutting boards and the raw meats to start the prep work.  Aaaaaaaand then my sister decides that that was the perfect time to clean Mom’s fridge.  Granted, it really needed to be done, especially with all of the leftovers that were going to get jammed into it over the weekend, but I had been planning on some help.  Checking my line of sight, I looked for other help.  My brother was nowhere to be seen.  I think I’ll start referring to him as Houdini because of his astounding ability to disappear without a sound … like, *gone* ...  car and all!!  <POOF!!>  So needless to say, he was of no help.  Mom was taking advantage of naptime by wrapping gifts and Dad was working on his “honey-do” list (trust me, that is 1 list that cannot be neglected in our family).  I was my help.  So I cut the chicken and set it to boil; I cubed the pork, floured it, and browned it; seasoned and browned the beef, and cubed and melted the cheese for the chili con carne; chopped and diced 2 large onions, six roasted green chilies and 1 whole bulb of garlic. 

It was about 3:30 and my sister had hung the “vacancy” sign on the fridge door, the Munchkins were up, and Mom was back downstairs.  There’s an annual party that my sister, her husband, the folks and, now, the Munchkins go to every Christmas Eve, and my sister needed Mom’s help getting the Munchkins changed, dressed, hair done and out the door.  After the party, Mom was going with my sister’s fam to church at 5:30 and Dad was going to come back and help me.  (Houdini was still a no-show.)  4:15, house was quiet except for the Christmas music via Sirius Radio combined with the methodical rhythm of shredding chicken and rolling two large pans of enchiladas.  5:30, the green chili was simmering and thickening, the chili con carne was done and awaiting to fulfill it’s role as Appetizer along with a basket of tortilla chips, a bowl of hot salsa and a bowl of mild salsa (we like to humor Mom’s sensitive pallet like that).  The 1st tray of enchiladas were in the oven and I had just started on the rice and vermicelli.  <phone rings>  Dad: “I stopped for a beer.  I’ll be there in 10 so you can go take care of your dog.” (yup, she’d been cooped up in the house, all by herself,  for over 5 hours).  <sigh>  No help.  I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and got back to the Spanish rice.  <DING DONG> … thinking that it was Dad messing with me, and was home, I waddled to the front of the house to answer the door, mentally brewing every sarcastic zing I could think of.  (my feet were swollen and beginning to flare, my legs were aching and hips were screaming.  hence the waddling and the attitude … but my lower half felt great compared to my upper half after all of the chopping and stirring and rolling.)  Imagine my surprise when I see a young teenage girl on the other side of the door selling cookie dough … on Christmas Eve … after dark.  Five minutes later (having to explain to her cute little self that I didn’t live there, I didn’t want any cookie dough, and the homeowners were not home at the moment) I forced myself to run back to the kitchen but I was too late … I had burned the rice.  (Frustration level rose, stress level rose, pain level rose ... you know the procession!!)

Finally Dad came back, I went home to feed the Keevester and let her out to run for a bit while Dad manned the kitchen.  My defenses dropped, just a tad but enough to let the flares start.  I grabbed my go-bag and put on the flare clothes that were inside of it so that I didn’t haven’t to open any dresser drawers … too painful.  I went back to the castle to be with my family for dinner (Houdini had reappeared) but I was in too much pain to eat … or sit down … or stand up … but I stayed.  This is my family, I love them and I would do anything for them … obviously, to a fault.  I had to forego Christmas Eve church that night because of pain, but I had spent time with my family, that was what was important to me.

Christmas morning, I put on the new ultra soft sweats that Mom and Dad had given to me the night before and headed back to the folks’ house.  After the charge and attack on the Santa gifts in the living room, I went into the family room to “pause” on the couch for a bit.  Polar Express was on a loop on one of the tv stations and I was able to shut down and work on my breathing.  Until I heard, “Up!!”  I opened my eyes to the adorably handsome face of my nephew, still in his Christmas pajamajams.  I scooped him up and sat him on my left side.  He snuggled into me and I closed my eyes and realized it didn’t hurt for him to touch me.  <LOVE>  Then I heard, “Autchen.  Up.“  (Autchen = Aunt Jenn) There, at my right knee, was the Christmas miracle face of my niece.  I lifted her up and sat her on my right leg … she’s still light enough to do that.  We sat silently, watching the movie, just the 3 of us.  As the elves were lowering the big, red bag of gifts onto Santa’s sleigh, Da Gurl threw her arms up over her head, grabbed both sides of my face (still facing the tv) and said, “Love Autchen.”  Not, “I.  Love.  You.  Too.”  She said it first.  Unsolicited.  Without repeating someone else.  Matter-of-factly.  “Love Autchen.”

All of the physical pain and lingering abandonment issues of the night before vanished in less than a heartbeat.  My heart was the only body part that felt swollen … well that, and my tear ducts.

Keeping my faith and holding my tongue gave me the kind of hope and joy that only unconditional love can bring.  And to me, THAT is the true meaning of Christmas.

I hope you all had a very blessed holiday, regardless of how you celebrated, and were able to share the love, faith, and hope with your families and friends.