We arrived in Santa Clarita on Saturday night and were greeted by Santa Claus.
We had descended upon the Belardinelli household: Christina, Charie, and "the boys" Dylan, Dante, and Demitri. Cousins Emma and Lee were already there, too.
Three days after arriving in California, we finally had come to another household with kids -- plus every electronic game system currently or recently in vogue. Beau and Casey were in kid heaven. And thus began the week-long "cousin fest."
First order of business: decorate another Christmas tree. A crew of seven kids and a couple of grown ups made short work of the project. Ornaments flew onto the tree and wrappings and and boxes flew onto the floor.
Julie and Mack arrived late Sunday night. Pam, Bill, and Aunt Frances arrived Monday (Christmas eve day). In all, we were a family of 16 in one house. The dishwasher ran non-stop. The laundry, too. But, thankfully, the showers remained hot.
When Dante helped with the Sunday grocery run, and he found a small gingerbread house kit. He, Beau, Casey, and Lee assembled a festive bit of architecture.
Games of chess, Apples to Apples, spoons, Oh Hell, Wise or Otherwise, Risk, and cribbage were the family friendly, non-electronic amusements. (Jumping on the trampoline was popular, too, but I don't seem to have any photos of that.)
On Christmas eve we cut out cookies and frosted them. We set aside a few to leave for Santa; the rest were devoured for dessert.
That night, "the stockings were hung by the chimney with care."
Casey wrote a note to Santa and left him a plate of cookies (plus carrots for the reindeer).
Britt read Twas the Night Before Christmas, and the kids finally went to bed sometime well past any appropriate bedtime.
Christmas morning arrived at a rather respectable 5:30 am. I had asked Casey to come get me before he opened his stocking (thinking that he'd climb in for a customary early morning cuddle and thus forestall waking the entire house). So at 5:30, he came in to tell me that it was Christmas morning, then he turned tail and ran right back downstairs to the boys' bedroom where all the boys were already sitting up, unpacking their stockings, eating chocolate, and comparing loot.
Here Casey is holding up
not the stocking that he'd hung up on Christmas eve (the stocking handmade by Auntie Erin) but a stocking that Santa himself left that night: a Red Sox 2007 Championship stocking, with a tag reading "To Casey From Santa Because I'm a Red Sox fan too!" So now Casey has two stockings. But I think Britt, Beau, and I each have two stockings, too, so that's OK.
Not until about 8:30 am was everyone up, somewhat fed, and finally ready to begin the present-opening (except for poor Julie who spent Christmas and Boxing day sick in bed). By the time we got underway unwrapping presents, Casey was nearly fainting with anticipation. But he was indulgently rewarded.
We began the unwrapping with the customary Rideout youngest-to-oldest, hand-out-a-present-read-the-tag-aloud-everyone-ooh-and-aah ceremony. By late morning, the ceremony had gone on long enough; presents were less ceremoniously received and more swiftly admired. And finally sometime after mid-day, the typical post-Christmas livingroom had been achieved.
Of course, gifts are only the prelude. The centerpiece to Christmas is the food.
The turkey went into the Weber just after 12 noon. Then Britt and the boys gamely peeled and sliced two bags of apples for homemade pie.
Although the turkey started off on a too-hot fire, it roasted just fine -- but more quickly than expected. That meant that Frances, Pam, Christina, and I were scrambling to mash the potatoes, whisk up the gravy, heat the rolls, steam the broccoli, and work out the recipe for green bean casserole an hour ahead of schedule.
Amid the madness of dinner preparations, and right on time, additional guests arrived: convivial to a man (or woman). It was a bustling kitchen and a crowd of good cheer.
And then Charlie's friend Rick began playing the bagpipes.
The bustling ceased. We all gravitated to the courtyard, mesmerized by haunting, soulful wailing of the bagpipes.
Like the pipers of Scottland ushering in the haggis on Burns Night, Rick added pause and ceremony to our dinner and ushered in our turkey feast.
It was a merry, memorable Christmas.
