My daughter, Madi, wrote the following essay for school last year. I think she captured our Christmases quite accurately:
A Mordue Christmas
Christmas, for most people, is a time of peace and rest. Remembering, celebrating and enjoying family. Most times, when people think of Christmas, they think of a quiet, holiday dinner, sitting by the fire and drinking hot chocolate, maybe even reading their favorite Christmas story. That was before they met the Mordue family.
Every year, my whole entire extended family get together to spend Christmas Eve and morning as a family, often times sleeping at my grandparents house in Bountiful, Utah. This tradition began when my sisters and I were the only grandchildren. My dad is the oldest out of my grandmother’s six children. Since then, my dad’s siblings have started families of their own. Currently I have seventeen loud, young, rambunctious cousins of various ages, ranging between six months and ten years old. This year, our celebration will begin around 4:30pm on December 24, 2007. Over the next hour, my aunts, uncles and cousin spill in. My cousins run, yell, scream and jump; while my sisters and I, being the oldest out of the seventeen, set tables and help my grandfather carve the turkey, serve the jell-o and mash the potatoes. Although you’d think eating our feast would be relaxing, it is almost a struggle to make sure your plate is full and your appetite accommodated for. The next half hour is the only true un-stressful time of the night. The adults sit around and talk while the oldest cousins, including me, clear the table and the little kids watch “Cinder-ra-ra” or “The-Movie-With-the-Red-Car”.
After the dining room is cleaned up, we head downstairs and pile onto the multiple couches in front of the fire. We start to fight silently, waiting for someone to make the smallest of movements off the couch so we can steal their seat. Obviously, our silent battles become shouting matches and football tackles. Gradually, my grandfather moves the younger cousins out of the living room and into the hall to get them dressed and ready for our traditional nativity.
My grandmother dims the lights so we can only see the small manger by the glow of the fire. Then, surprisingly silent, they march into the room wearing bathrobes and animal hats. Chloe, decked out in shawls, walks into our makeshift “stable” with Isaac, who is engulfed in a flowery robe. They lay the baby doll in the manger and sit perfectly still. After that, the “shepherds” use yard sticks and heard the rest of the crew in. The scene before us is touching and my mother and Aunt Kim get teary eyed. My grandfather clears his throat and reads Luke: 2 from the bible. As soon as he reads “…And unto you this day, a child is born,” Emery as the angel of the Lord raises her arm and brings her wand down on the baby Jesus’ head with a crack and yells, “Poof!” Her dad, Josh, snorts while shortly after her mom, Suzette, hits him and the rest of us try to keep our Christmas spirit directed toward the stable. Slowly, grandfather finishes the Christmas story and tells us for the some-teenth time that night how much he loves the Bible Christmas story. Its time to begin our talent show!
First up is my dad. I stand to help him read and show the pictures of “The Night before Christmas” that he had saved from the fifth grade. Everyone claps and Soni, my aunt, sings a trio with my older sisters. The next half hour is filled with half-finished Christmas classics from Caleb, random notes on the piano from Ashley and Jake, and finally Layla stands to sing to us and it’s all I can do to not pee my pants. Every year Layla is a sheep in our nativity. About two years ago, her mom bought her a lamb sweater with a hood and ears. Today, it doesn’t fit, and her shoulders are hunched up so the hood will fit over her head.
We all fight to control our selves while Layla sings the ABC’s, and loudly claps when she finishes. The final talent of the evening is my South-African uncle who sings a Christmas Rap that he made up his first year with us. The last part of the evening is watching the movie of Luke: 2 and singing the First Noel. At long last, we pray and say our good-byes. My family leaves for our home, less than a half mile away, while the others stay, trying to sleep, despite their anticipation for Santa.
The next morning after we finish our immediate Christmas morning as a family, we drive back to my grandparent’s house for breakfast and gifts. We give to our cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents. Even at seven in the morning, my cousins still act as though someone put Red Bull in their juice. At the end of our Mordue Family Christmas, my grandparents give us the big gift. Usually we get a trip to California to stay in a rented beach house, or a Cabin in Wyoming for a week. It may sound glamorous, but my whole extended family goes, which makes the trip one big, messy, chaotic party.
Christmas, for most people, is a time of peace and rest. Remembering, celebrating and enjoying family. Most times, when people think of Christmas, they think of a quiet, holiday dinner, sitting by the fire and drinking hot chocolate, maybe even reading their favorite Christmas story. That was before they met the Mordue family.
Every year, my whole entire extended family get together to spend Christmas Eve and morning as a family, often times sleeping at my grandparents house in Bountiful, Utah. This tradition began when my sisters and I were the only grandchildren. My dad is the oldest out of my grandmother’s six children. Since then, my dad’s siblings have started families of their own. Currently I have seventeen loud, young, rambunctious cousins of various ages, ranging between six months and ten years old. This year, our celebration will begin around 4:30pm on December 24, 2007. Over the next hour, my aunts, uncles and cousin spill in. My cousins run, yell, scream and jump; while my sisters and I, being the oldest out of the seventeen, set tables and help my grandfather carve the turkey, serve the jell-o and mash the potatoes. Although you’d think eating our feast would be relaxing, it is almost a struggle to make sure your plate is full and your appetite accommodated for. The next half hour is the only true un-stressful time of the night. The adults sit around and talk while the oldest cousins, including me, clear the table and the little kids watch “Cinder-ra-ra” or “The-Movie-With-the-Red-Car”.
After the dining room is cleaned up, we head downstairs and pile onto the multiple couches in front of the fire. We start to fight silently, waiting for someone to make the smallest of movements off the couch so we can steal their seat. Obviously, our silent battles become shouting matches and football tackles. Gradually, my grandfather moves the younger cousins out of the living room and into the hall to get them dressed and ready for our traditional nativity.
My grandmother dims the lights so we can only see the small manger by the glow of the fire. Then, surprisingly silent, they march into the room wearing bathrobes and animal hats. Chloe, decked out in shawls, walks into our makeshift “stable” with Isaac, who is engulfed in a flowery robe. They lay the baby doll in the manger and sit perfectly still. After that, the “shepherds” use yard sticks and heard the rest of the crew in. The scene before us is touching and my mother and Aunt Kim get teary eyed. My grandfather clears his throat and reads Luke: 2 from the bible. As soon as he reads “…And unto you this day, a child is born,” Emery as the angel of the Lord raises her arm and brings her wand down on the baby Jesus’ head with a crack and yells, “Poof!” Her dad, Josh, snorts while shortly after her mom, Suzette, hits him and the rest of us try to keep our Christmas spirit directed toward the stable. Slowly, grandfather finishes the Christmas story and tells us for the some-teenth time that night how much he loves the Bible Christmas story. Its time to begin our talent show!
First up is my dad. I stand to help him read and show the pictures of “The Night before Christmas” that he had saved from the fifth grade. Everyone claps and Soni, my aunt, sings a trio with my older sisters. The next half hour is filled with half-finished Christmas classics from Caleb, random notes on the piano from Ashley and Jake, and finally Layla stands to sing to us and it’s all I can do to not pee my pants. Every year Layla is a sheep in our nativity. About two years ago, her mom bought her a lamb sweater with a hood and ears. Today, it doesn’t fit, and her shoulders are hunched up so the hood will fit over her head.
We all fight to control our selves while Layla sings the ABC’s, and loudly claps when she finishes. The final talent of the evening is my South-African uncle who sings a Christmas Rap that he made up his first year with us. The last part of the evening is watching the movie of Luke: 2 and singing the First Noel. At long last, we pray and say our good-byes. My family leaves for our home, less than a half mile away, while the others stay, trying to sleep, despite their anticipation for Santa.
The next morning after we finish our immediate Christmas morning as a family, we drive back to my grandparent’s house for breakfast and gifts. We give to our cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents. Even at seven in the morning, my cousins still act as though someone put Red Bull in their juice. At the end of our Mordue Family Christmas, my grandparents give us the big gift. Usually we get a trip to California to stay in a rented beach house, or a Cabin in Wyoming for a week. It may sound glamorous, but my whole extended family goes, which makes the trip one big, messy, chaotic party.
What will my family get this year?
