I have a problem with abundance.
It’s not that I need abundance; I guess I just sort of believe in it. So when a holiday approaches or a celebration is near and I’m in charge, I shoot a little bit for the moon. Now, that’s not to say you won’t go to someone else’s home and have a better planned gathering, more cash shelled out or find more details attended to, but at our house, I like to think you’ll find it pretty good. It especially comes out in the food. I’m sure I have deep-seated fear of running out of it. I’ll never take the chance. Some of you might relate to a very recent and immensely giant lasagna.
We have already had four Christmas celebrations with family. We have another to go. This year, I didn’t even whisper a word about a traditional Christmas morning brunch that I typically host. The abundance freak in me wanted to–I really had to fight it. But I fought hard and kept my trap shut.
Of course I still made the brunch. Cooked all the food that we’ve grown to love with our family Christmas morning: an egg casserole, cheesy potatoes, bacon, sausage and one of the best holiday recipe finds ever: cranberry cake. If you cook, you need to try this cinnamon-y sour cream cake, baked in a spring form pan and topped with an (abundant) mountain of candied cranberries. This all goes perfectly with Mike’s homemade cinnamon rolls, which he managed to roll out shoulder recovery and all. Check out our spread:
As I was prepping the food on Christmas Eve (this meal is also awesome because it’s nearly all make-ahead) I found my mind wandering to thoughts of, “Next year, we’ll invite people over,” and “I wish we had planned the brunch this year!” But on Christmas morning, as I sipped coffee and watched the sun bounce around the farmland out our back door, donning pajamas and saving the cheesy potatoes from a a hole in the foil that delayed them, I thought, “No way.” There is nothing better than doing NOTHING on Christmas Day.
I’m not sure what the best part was. The kids were happy and busy with their take, the house smelled amazing, the coffee was perfect, carols played, television wasn’t even a thought and there was NO PLAN. It was heavenly and blissful.
This momentary perfection was, of course, interrupted by reality. At 1:30 we were showering and dressing and curling and begging Finn to take his sweatpants off and put jeans on. (The horror.) We were stuffing the car full of people and presents and heading off to another lovely celebration.
The truth is NOTHING is amazing. NOTHING should be treasured. Simple, sweet times like Christmas morning 2013 are too few and far between. But they are for sure what I live for.