A Very Rataic Christmas Eve
-Ella Rataic

A Very Rataic Christmas Eve

I wake up and it is Christmas Eve, which means sleeping in is not an option. I am immediately assigned a full cleaning itinerary: sweeping the floors, cleaning the windows, and picking up my room because, according to my mom, the house MUST be spotless. Not just clean, but museum-level pristine. I am convinced she likes to make it look like no one actually lives here.

Our house is completely decked out for Christmas, with all the bells and whistles. We have twenty-seven Christmas trees scattered throughout the house, each one decorated with its own personality, plus around twenty pots of poinsettias placed in every available corner. Add to that a full Christmas light extravaganza outside that Clark Griswold himself would be proud of. (Our house could probably be seen from space.)

Relatives begin arriving around 1:00 p.m., and my PaA makes his grand entrance carrying what appears to be an entire Eastern European market. He walks in with grape leaves, jars of olives, tubs of hummus and babbgonoush, containers of eech and toubouli and boxes of Turkish delights and baklava stacked in his arms. His outfit is just as impressive: bright red pants, a green polo, a plaid beret, bear-trap boots, a vest, a coat, an overcoat, and a fur jacket layered on top of everything, finished off with gloves that make his hands look like a gorilla’s. After Pa’s dramatic arrival, the rest of the family files in, coats pile up, conversations overlap, and the kitchen slowly begins to heat up.

Like clockwork, the fire alarm goes off when my mom tries to make the bacon-wrapped scallops a little extra “crispy.” The room fills with smoke, the temperature skyrockets, and everyone scrambles to open windows and wave towels at the ceiling like this is a perfectly normal part of our holiday tradition.

Before dinner, my dad hauls out his ancient tripod camera, sets the timer, and dashes to join the family, barely making it before the flash. He insists on multiple “just in case” shots, reminding us that we’ll all thank him one day, even though everyone is starving and just wants to eat. Finally, satisfied with the annual family portrait, he nods, and we can finally dig in. Once everyone’s stomachs are completely full, my great aunt and her brother, my PA, usually fall asleep on the couch. Their synchronized snoring becomes the background noise until it is time for gifts and our annual Secret Santa exchange.

After Secret Santa, the parents move on to a white elephant gift exchange while the cousins do our own version. Since there are four of us, we each buy four of the same item, place them in the middle, and then everyone takes one of each thing.

Then it is time for dessert, and everyone swarms the kitchen once again. Shortly after, random relatives and family friends start ringing the doorbell just to say hello. My mom immediately makes them a plate, packs up dessert, and practically shoves it into their hands while insisting they take food home. Resistance is pointless. You’ll never leave our house hungry.

A Christmas Story is always playing in the background because it is my uncle’s favorite, and we watch it with him every year without fail. Eventually, everyone packs up and heads home to get ready for midnight Mass. My Auntie Jac and Uncle Greg stay behind, so we open gifts with them since we do not see them on Christmas Day and they live far away.

When I was little, my sister and I wore our pajamas to midnight Mass. Now, I make an effort to dress nicely, even though the church is always freezing. We arrive after my dad circles the parking lot about twelve times before finally dropping us off and continuing his search for a miracle parking spot.

Midnight Mass is my favorite part of the night. The music is beautiful, with trumpets and flutes filling the church as the choir sings songs like “Go Tell It on the Mountain.” I sit in the pew, looking at the stained glass windows and the red poinsettias glowing on the altar, and I soak in every moment. After all the chaos, noise, and laughter of the day, Christmas Eve finally feels still.