Christmas Eve Eve

When I was a child counting down to Christmas, I would say, “If you don’t count today and you don’t count tomorrow, Christmas is X number of days away.” 

When I told my mother this, she said, “Why wouldn’t you count today and tomorrow?”

I said “To make it come faster.”

“Now, Charlie, you know that doesn’t make sense.”

Later I heard her telling one of her friends about this on the phone.  “She’s such a funny little thing.  I just don’t know how she’s going to get along in the world.”

If she’d sounded amused, my feelings would have been hurt, but she sounded concerned.  So I never shared the countdown with her again, although I kept it up.

 

I did tell my cousin Bethany, who thought it was a neat idea.  Aunt Pooh suggested that we could also count down to Christmas Eve.  “And then there’s Christmas Eve Eve.”

The day before Christmas Eve always had a special feel.  It was the last day of school before Christmas vacation.  I’d get to stay up late.  There would the final deluge of Christmas cards waiting to be gone through when I got home and my parents brought home the schmooze food gifts they’d gotten from business contacts.  It was a preview of Christmas.

As an adult, with the job of “doing” Christmas, I count today and tomorrow to try and make Christmas come more slowly so I can get things done.  I’m not sure if it works.

But by Christmas Eve Eve, I either have finished everything or given up.  The children come home from school all excited and I let them have some of the “not until Christmas” cookies that I’ve been guarding.  We sit around and they try to get me to let them open “just one" of the presents that Ed and I got for them to “help Santa out.”  Somebody says, “If you don’t count today and you don’t count tomorrow, it’s Christmas.” 

And we all understand. 

 

November 12 is the birthday of  Charlotte Emily Anne Sommerville McDonald, heroine/narrator of the fiction family sitcom blog Meet the McDonalds.

Mother of three, who works in the library at The College, Charlie (as she is best known) is a recovering English major and former Unitarian, who became an Episcopalian in  college.

Meet the McDonalds 

Cast of Characters

The Family

Ed, Charlie, Betsey, Josh, Cilla, Duke, and Nigel 

Janet McDonald -- Ed’s mother, married to

The Rev. Kate Parker

Douglas McDonald -- Ed’s father, who left Janet for

Missy Hays (currently McDonald), who has just left him for 

Jack Sommerville – Charlie’s father

Allison – Ed’s sister, married to Tony 
Their children are Dylan and Courtney

Ancestors and Extended Family

George (deceased) and Alice  (deceased) Whitfield. Charlie’s maternal grandparents.  He was an English professor and she was an at-home mom and painter.  Their children are

Louisa (Louie), Charlie’s mother (deceased) 

Ursula (Aunt Pooh)  Married to Dr. Joseph Gruenwald, a therapist.  Their children are Meghan, Joanna, Bethany, and James (Jim). (His nickname was Jamie until he figured out why.) 

Henry James Whitfield (Uncle Hank) Married to Judy, Their children: The Three J’s  Jessica, Jason, and Jennifer

The Girls

Karen – Married to Tom.  Their children are Eric, Jacob (Jake) and Lucas

Nicole (Nikki)  Married to Helmut.  Their children are Jennifer and Ilsa.

Dr. Emily Evans – Professor specializing in Early American Literature.   Single, Lesbian, and looking.

Alice Barrett –New guest  lecturer at The College.

Michele - Emily's ex.  A mysterious visitor.

Charlie’s been blogging and writing in her diary for a year and a half.  Since we can’t do a clip show, here are some recurring McDonald moments.

Charlie says, “Before you can say ‘knife.’”

Betsey says “Moron.”

Josh says, “No way, Jose.”

Cilla says, “Please, please, please.”

Kate says, “How do you feel about that?”

Janet says, “Bless her heart.”

Jack says, "Damn religious foolishness."

Karen says, “More wine?”

Nikki says, “Don’t be such a churchlady.”

Aunt Pooh says, “Let’s have a nice cup of tea.”

Emily  says, "Do I need a makeover?"

Alice says, "Terrific!"

Michele says,  "Charlotte . .  ."                      

What does Ed say? 

 Thanks to Ylvis for” What Does the Fox Say?”

Catch up with the action or relive favorite moments through the Archives.

Louisa, Pooh,and the Haunted Loo, A Tale of Revenge by Guest Blogger Aunt Pooh



 

My sister, my brother, and I grew up in was technically a suburb, but was really the country.  There were cornfields on two sides of our house and a farm down the road. We loved to go in the cornfields ,and for Halloween, we would pick the corn, which was hard, shell it, and at night go around the neighborhood, throw it at people's windows and run away.

There were stories of children who had gotten lost in the cornfield and were never seen again.  My sister Louisa who was very "down to earth" (She thought Halloween costumes were "stupid", although she did enjoy the Trick of Treat candy,)  said it was probably "bums" (That was what we called homeless people then.), but my brother Hank and I thought it might be ghosts.

To hear my mother talk, you'd think bums were "coming in the windows", as she liked to say.  Up the road was an old cemetery, with not just gravestones, but mausoleums.  We liked to look in the windows, because of course the spirits didn't come out during the day.  Louisa said that was stupid and that she wouldn't be afraid to go in the cemetery at night and sit on one of the benches and eat a sandwich.  When Hank asked what kind of sandwich, I was about to say that wasn't important, but Louisa said she would bring cheese because peanut butter and jelly was too messy.  Then Hank asked if she would put mustard or mayonnaise on it, and she said she would just eat it plain because mustard and mayonnaise were too messy, too. 

We had to pass the cemetery on our way to school.  There was a hedge around it, so my mother told us to walk on the other side of the road in case bums were hiding the hedge waiting to jump out and grab us.   Sometimes, just to be daring, we would walk on the cemetery side, but I never did by myself.

As if the cornfield and the cemetery weren't enough, there was a haunted house between the cemetery and the school.  It was up a long driveway, so if a ghost or bum got you, no one would know.  One Saturday, just before Halloween, Louisa was talking again about having a sandwich in the cemetery.  Hank said, "Oh, Louie, you're just saying that.  You know you couldn't get out at night."

Louisa was a realist.  "Let's do it this afternoon."

This time I was down to earth.  "That's not scary.  There might be people coming to put flower on the graves and stuff."

Hank thought a minute, "Let's go to the haunted house.  We can have a picnic on the lawn."

That sounded good.  When my mother found us making sandwiches, we told her we were going to a nature walk, and she gave us some cookies to take and even some milk in my Cinderella thermos bottle.  We put it all in my lunch kit and started off.

It was a sunny day, but when we started up the drive, we felt a chill in the wind.  I said maybe it was the ghosts.  Louisa said, "Oh, Pooh," but Hank looked excited.    Supposedly, the house had belonged to a rich family, who had all died off except one daughter.  Some had been drowned, some had died in carriage or car accidents, and some had suddenly gotten very sick and died, even though they were young and didn't have anything wrong with them.  After all that, nobody had wanted to marry the daughter,  not that you could blame them.  So she lived alone, except for her housekeeper and gardener and  then she grew old and died of a heart attack.  That was a little anticlimactic, but as Hank pointed out when we heard the story, maybe she had been scared by a ghost.

We sat on the front steps and ate our sandwiches,  The Louisa got bored listening to Hank and me wondering if there were rats or bats or bums in the house and stood up.  "I'm going in there."

She was always more daring than I was, probably because she didn't have much imagination.  That can be a good thing sometimes.

I didn't know what to say.  I didn't want to do it, but I didn't want to seem afraid, although I was.  Hank was more practical.

"Oh, Louie, the door must be locked."

It was, but Louisa decided to try to back door.  "If that's locked, we can break a window with your lunch box."

We went around to the back on a stone path that was overgrown with grass and weeds.  The back steps wobbled, but Louisa pushed on the back door and it opened.  I was glad my lunchbox wasn't going to be scratched or the thermos broken.  I decided I had to go in.  After all, I was the oldest.

The kitchen still had a table and chairs covered with dust.  There was spider webs in the corners and even on the faucet in the sink.  I  ran my finger over the dust on the table.  "Don't do that," Hank said.  "The ghosts might get mad."

We went into what was probably the living room.  There wasn't any furniture there;  the kitchen had been dirty, but the empty rooms seemed so desolate that I shivered.  "Let's go home," I said.

"Don't be a baby.  Let's go upstairs." 

"Let's go home;  I have to go to the bathroom."

"You can go upstairs."  And she started to go up.  Hank and I followed her;  what else could we do?

Upstairs was a long hall with about five doors.  One was closed.  "That must be the bathroom,"  Louisa said.  I waited for her to come with me. "Well, go ahead."

 There were no windows in the bathroom.

"Keep the door open a crack, but don't look."  The bathroom was dusty too, but I really did have to go and it was better than the bushes.  As soon as I was finished and stood up, the door slammed shut.  I tried to open it, but I couldn't.  The knob turned, but I couldn't push it open.  I was in the dark.  If there were any spiders, I couldn't see them.

"Louie, open the door." 

"I cccccccan't,"  Louisa sounded scared.

I pushed again.  Nothing.  Were the ghosts holding the door shut?

"I'll go home for help," Hank offered. Were the ghosts waiting for them to leave so the could get me?  And I was more afraid of my parents finding out than of the ghosts.

"Louie, please."

"I'm trying."

I almost started to cry, but if I got out of this, alive she would never let me forget it. 

Suddenly the door opened.  I nearly fell into her.

We ran down the stairs, out the door, and down the lane.  Fortunately, Hank remembered the  lunch box.

My mother was surprised that we hadn't brought home any flowers or leaves.  Louisa said we had picked some, but I had left them behind after we ate.  "You know how she is."

I never told anyone about this until after Louisa died.  At the luncheon after her funeral, Hank and I were reminiscing and I mentioned the haunted house.

Hank looked sheepish. "Louie made me promise never to tell anyone, but  I guess it's all right now.  Louie was leaning against the door so you couldn't get out.  She said it was to make up for all the times you and your friends would play Princesses and would make her be the servant."





 

 

Ed -- the Dad and the Legend

Ed just snorted whenever anyone brought up the election.

"Just because I'm not carrying on, doesn't mean I don't care."  That's one of Ed's favorite lines. 

Betsey and her friends Izzy (Isabella) and Sam  (Samantha) want to be the Khardashian sisters.  It involves buying long wigs and short dresses. "And you know, Mom, we'll be able to wear the dresses after Halloween"

"Just like a bridesmaid's gown."  That was lost on her.

Ed is not a fan.  When Betsey told him, he Googled the Khardashians.  He didn't say much, but later he said he was glad that at least they weren't going to pad their butts.

The carnival is still going on, and naturally Ed and I try to take the kids every year.  They sit in the back seat playing video games and asking if we are there yet.  Ed, who can be quite literal at times, says, “No.  We are on the way.  If we were there the car wouldn’t be moving.”

“What if you’re parking the car?  Is that being there?”

Josh had him on that.

“It depends on what you mean by being and what you mean by there.”

After everyone had gone to bed, I was lying awake thinking about the olives and the picnics at my grandmother’s and Aunt Pooh’s houses.  “Isn’t it funny how my mother is remembered for her remark about olives [being so festive]?"

“You ought to have it put on her tombstone.”

I knew Ed was joking, but I wondered what my mother would have thought of that.  I hate to say it, but humor wasn’t her strong point.

I suddenly had a thought.  What were the grandchildren going to call me?  “What do you want our grandchildren to call you?”

“Charlie.  Seriously?”

“Grandma is fine for me, since that’s what I called my grandmother and that’s what they call three of their grandmothers.  Janet might not like them using the same name they did for Missy."

I had another idea.  “Maybe one of the grandchildren will have a cute name for me before he or she can really talk and everyone will use it.  Karen calls her grandmother Noo Noo.  It’s a long story.”

“Fine.  I’ll speak to the first grandchild about it.”

Ed Googled “Jesus and pigs” and now he can’t figure out why Jesus did it.  And what about the owners of the herd?  That was their livelihood.  That wasn’t right.

I felt a certain satisfaction when he brought it up last night.  I’m usually the one who starts the discussions.  I didn’t comment on the validity of the question, partly because I’m too polite and also because it had occurred to me, too.

“Can you imagine what would happen today if someone did that to somebody’s business?”  he sputtered.

“They would have sued him before you could say knife.”

“Damn right.”

“I’m just surprised they didn’t take it to the Pharisees.  They would have loved it.”

“But the Pharisees wouldn’t have cared, because pigs were unclean anyway and the owners would have been Gentiles, who didn’t count.”

“But it would have been a chance to get Jesus.”

“Yeah, they missed an opportunity there.”

“I never paid attention [in Sunday School].  I thought church was a bore.  By the time I got to college, I was practically an atheist.”

I was surprised to hear that. “But I met you at the college Episcopalian group.”

“Oh . . . well, I saw you around and I thought you were cute.  So I asked some people and somebody told me you went there."

 

 

Ed got me these horse head squirrel feeders for Valentine's Day.  I got him socks with hearts.

.



 

"

 

.

Round Tables and Milkshakes

The sun didn't exactly come out after the election.  It was rainy and windy, making  soggy lumps of political signs before blowing them down the street.  I was glad that I had the excuse of staying home with the kids, who were too upset to go to school.  (Well, the girls were, and it wouldn't have been fair to send Josh.  He would be complaining about it for the rest of his life.)

Karen called me during her lunch break and asked how I was doing.  She said the kids at the middle school where she is librarian were very subdued, which was peaceful, but weird, if not creepy,  The guidance department was scheduling discussion groups ("round tables") and private conferences  Of course, I had to ask her how she was doing, and she said, "As well as can be expected."  It might have been my imagination, but I think she was sniffling.

When I went back to work the next day, everyone was subdued there, too.  It turned out that I wasn't the only one who had stayed home, so it wasn't as anticlimactic as I thought it would be. The men looked like they wanted to grumble, but didn't say much.  The women kept patting each other and sighing. At lunch they were either too upset to eat or ordered pizza and milkshakes.  I wanted to get away from the misery, so I went out to the snack bar and watched the students sit around looking like they were at an funeral and/or were hung over from drowning their sorrows.

Emily and Alice called to ask how I was doing.  Emily was in love, so she was fine , and Alice was looking on the whole thing as material.

Kate apologized for not calling sooner, but she had her hands full with Janet, not to mention Missy and the entire congregation of Epiphany.  For a change, I asked her how she felt about it all,  and she said she was praying for guidance and "spending time with Jesus."  I almost asked her how He felt about everything, but caught myself in time.

Ed just snorted if anyone brought up the election.

I thought everyone would settle down or perk up with the holidays.  The children did, although Cilla said she was praying to the Blessed Virgin Mother to save us all.

But most of the adults were talking about impeachment or complaining that they didn't feel festive and didn't know if they should.  I threw myself into everything, which helped.  What I really needed help with was being around all those angry or depressed people.  Karen said that I was in denial.  Nikki said, "That works for me."  She did admit that she and Helmut had talked about moving to Germany, where at least they had a woman Chancellor, but Jenny and Ilse fussed about leaving their friends, Helmut liked his job, and she couldn't face a move, much less her mother-in-law.

So things are continuing.  They will continue for three years and seven months.  Unless something happens.

Kate has a poster in her office that says,

"When things go wrong, you can worry or you can pray.

You might as well pray,"

That works for me.

A McDonalds Mother's Day Clip Show

Cilla learns that Charlie wasn't in the popular crowd in high school:

Cilla started crying. Then she got up and flung herself on me. “Oh, Mother, I am sorry that you were a nerd.” Then she cried some more, just like a Bette Davis movie.

Josh discusses Charlie's parenting style:

Today, after we got home from church, Josh said, “Aidan asked where you’d been today.”  Aidan is a boy in Betsey’s class.

First she looked panicky.  “What did you tell him?”

Josh shrugged.  “I just said, ‘My mom says she’s rebelling.’ [by not going to Sunday School]. Then we got some cookies.” 

“What else did he say?”

“He said he was going to play softball this spring.”

“No, I mean about me.”

“Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, he said, ‘Your mom must be really cool not to make her go.’”

Then I got interested.  “What did you say?” I asked.

“I said, ‘Yeah, she’s OK.’”

Betsey gives Charlie parenting advice:

Shopping with two girls is one of those experiences that “challenge you to grow,” as my mother used to say when I complained about having to do something.  I tell the children to “offer it up.”  And I was given a lot to offer.

Cilla and her friends have decided that “if it isn’t pink, they’re not wearing it.”  And on the first day, everything had to be totally pink.  After that they would condescend to wear contrasting pants or skirts.

 

Betsey told me I was “spoiling her” and looked superior until I reminded her of the year she and her friends wore purple all day every day; even their pajamas had to be purple.

I shouldn’t have said anything because Cilla decided that she needed pink pajamas and wanted to call her friends right now, please, please, please so they could get some too.

Charlie's problems with having a mother who was a scientist:

I could never figure my mother out; I was into novels and movies, which she thought were a waste of time when I could be riding my bike or talking on the phone with my friends who were real people.  She thought I was “a funny little thing,” but I was her “funny little thing” and she did the best she could .

When I was a child counting down to Christmas, I would say, “If you don’t count today and you don’t count tomorrow, Christmas is X number of days away.” 

When I told my mother this, she said, “Why wouldn’t you count today and tomorrow?”

I said “To make it come faster.”

“Now, Charlie, you know that doesn’t make sense.”

Later I heard her telling one of her friends about this on the phone.  “She’s such a funny little thing.  I just don’t know how she’s going to get along in the world.”

If she’d sounded amused, my feelings would have been hurt, but she sounded concerned.  So I never shared the countdown with her again, although I kept it up.

Karen's mother prepares for the worst:

 Then, of course, Karen dug out her wedding album.  She got married in December in a candlelight service.  It was only about ten years ago, but we couldn’t believe how dowdy everyone looked, when they weren’t trying to be retro.  Karen had worn a strapless gown and her mother had worried all through the service that it would fall down.  She’d made Karen’s father hold her coat in his lap so he could run up and throw it over her. 

“What about the reception?  Did he follow you around?”

 “No, I think she figured everyone would be too drunk to notice.”

Nikki's mother on overnight guests :

"My mother tried so hard to be cool and with it,” Nikki giggled.  “She put Helmut in the guest room and asked if I wanted to stay there too.  I was so embarrassed, I turned red.  She said, ‘Oh, Nicole, grow up!’”

Ed's childhood with a politically active mother:

When Missy and Janet became friends again, I thought we were going to be an even bigger happy family.  Ed was not particularly pleased.

He said that his mother and Missy had been Leftist-Hippy Lucy and Ethel in their day, getting together and carrying on and dragging him and Allison and Missy’s kids to protest marches and peace vigils.  “It’s a miracle we didn’t get lung cancer from all the secondhand pot smoke.  And the music!  Dear God, the music!  How many roads can a man walk down before they call him a man?  Solidarity forever!  I caught my mother singing that to Betsey when she was a baby.  I made her switch to 'Jesus Loves Me'.  We’d come home from school and all there would be in the house were about three M & M’s.   We had to eat apples for snacks!”  Ed was on a roll.

A Major Hysterical Event

I thought the drama surrounding the primary election was bad.  Karen and Janet didn't know if they should be for Bernie because they liked what he said (Karen particularly liked the bit about free college and Janet is an old hippie-Leftist who had dragged Ed and his sister to rallies and demonstrations and played Woody Guthrie tapes for them instead of Disney hits.) or for Hillary because she's a woman.

During one discussion, Ed said, "I thought a real feminist would vote for the best candidate, no matter what their sex is."

Janet told him that anyone who had an attitude like his about feminists had no business telling them how to behave.

Betsey look umbrage that anyone would imply that her father wasn't a feminist and Josh and Cilla chimed in, even if they didn't understand.  Then Betsey told Ed that  "Nevertheless," he shouldn't be fresh to his mom and anyway everybody is entitled to his or her own opinion.

Janet said, "It's all right.  I used to change his diapers."

Kate closed her eyes and sighed, "Jesus, give me strength."  Cilla said she should ask the Blessed Virgin Mother too.

Nikki and I figured that they both had their good points, but who had time to get upset?  It seemed most people did.  
 
After Hillary got the nomination, things settled down a bit.  We all bought buttons and t-shirts, and Ed complained about wasting all that money.  I told him he'd thank us in November.

We told the kids they could stay up to watch the returns.  I thought it would be over by ten and was even prepared to move it up to eleven, even if they would be too tired to go to school the next day. After all, they were witnessing a major historical event and anyway it might even be done by nine.

I finally sent them up at eleven thirty.  I stretched out on the sofa with a Diet Dr. Pepper and a bowl of potato chips and fell asleep.  When I woke up, Trump had just gone over the top.  I didn't cry, but Karen called me and then Janet, both of them sobbing.  Ed growled, "Can't their spouses take care of them?  It's the goddamn middle of the night."  I told him to go back to sleep.

By that time it was four o'clock.  I tried to figure out if I'd be any good at work,  if they'd give me a vacation day on such short notice, and what I should say.  It turned out that wasn't necessary.  As soon as Betsey and Cilla got up, they asked who won and then they started crying.  Betsey even flung herself on me, while Cilla stood in the middle of the kitchen in her pajamas wailing, "Why, God, why?"

Josh looked at Ed and they both smirked.

I decided I would say we had a family emergency, which was true.  The girls were too upset to go to school, so I had to stay home.  Josh wanted to stay home too, and said, "Just because I'm not carrying on, doesn't mean I don't care."  That's one of Ed's favorite lines.  Since he had worn the buttons and shirt, I decided that he really could be upset, more or less, and let him stay home.

After Ed left for work, snorting about "Liberal foolishness," I made everyone French toast and we ate it in front of the tv, watching an old movie about an idealist young man who runs for Congress but refuses to make deals.

The Butter Lamb

Unitarian Easter is not a big deal, although my cousins and I dyed eggs, we had an egg hunt at church, and my parents gave me a basket every year until I had Betsey, when they gave her a basket. I always made baskets for the dog and cat.

My friends got new dresses, but as my mother pointed out, it was usually too cold for spring dresses and they had to wear coats. I wore my “nice pants” (the ones that weren’t jeans – my mother was old fashioned that way) and whatever shirt was clean.

My grandmother or one of my aunts would have everyone over for dinner. One year, I found a lamb made of butter holding a red plastic flag and sitting in a bed of green Easter grass at the grocery store and begged my mother to let me take it to the dinner.

She said, “All right, but let’s not tell Daddy.”

I asked why and she looked uncomfortable. “Let’s make it a surprise.”

My cousins loved the lamb, even after I told them it was butter and not white chocolate, and my grandmother kissed me and told me it was beautiful

The others weren’t so enthusiastic.

My father snorted and Uncle Hank said it was meaningless superstition. Then my grandfather, who had been raised an Episcopalian, but had broken his parents’ hearts be becoming an atheist in college, said that Those People didn’t think it was meaningless; the lamb represented Jesus, who supposedly was killed for everyone’s sins so they wouldn’t go to Hell. He started singing “Oh Lamb of God/Sweet Lamb of God . . . Oh, wash me in your precious blood . . .” Jessica wailed, “Oh, the poor lamb!” and Jennifer started crying.

Aunt Pooh stepped in and said that even though it was almost dinner time, we could each have one piece of candy. Jennifer wiped her eyes and said, “How about two?”

We did get two pieces and no one’s appetite was spoiled. The lamb stayed on the table, but every year after that my mother went food shopping by herself around Easter.

“Lamb of God” is one of my favorite hymns, although some priests don’t use it for fear it will scare off newcomers. Cilla loves to sing it around the house, although Betsey says she is a big moron who doesn’t understand what it means.

Summing Up the Year From Charlie's Diary

I don't make New Year's resolutions;  it's just one more thing to feel guilty about.  But I like to sum up the year.  What was accomplished?  What was tabled?  What just didn't work out?

They still haven't found out who murdered Margaret and we can't think of anything else to try.  They haven't made a tv show about it yet.  Or at least no one has called about interviewing me as a "friend and co-worker"

My father and Missy are living together in his house and she is getting a divorce.  Betsey and Cilla are planning on being bridesmaids.  I told them not to count on it;  even if they do get married, it may be a very simple ceremony.  When it's your third wedding, you might want to keep a low profile.  Karen and Nikki think they won't be able to withstand the pressure from the girls, not to mention Missy's granddaughters.

One thing has worked out, though.  Emily has a relationship!  Since she was always free on Sunday mornings, she joined the choir at Epiphany,  She and a woman named Hallie started going for coffee after rehearsals.  I asked her if she had had any trouble figuring out if  Hallie was a possibility.

"No, I just came right out and asked her.  It saved a lot of time."

That had never occurred to me.