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The first glory to meet my eyes on Christmas morning is a dusky blue eye peering into mine as a tiny voice whispers, “Mommy?”

I crack both of my eyes open as Abs gives me a huge grin.  “Is it time to open presents?”

“It’s time to bake the cinnamon rolls.”

“Yay!”  He gives me a certain look.  “Then we get to open presents?”

I laugh.  “Maybe a couple.  Then we need to make scrambled eggs and sausage.”

A moment later, Abner is dancing out of my room as I crawl from bed and pull my robe on.  When did it get so cold?

I head for the kitchen and pull the cinnamon rolls from the fridge.  I leave them on the island to warm up as I cross the short distance to the stove and turn the oven on to three hundred seventy-five degrees.

“Mommy, what do we have to do to get the cinnamon rolls ready?” Abner is grinning up at me.  I can tell he’s super excited that it’s Christmas morning. 

I am too.  “First, we need to make the toffee syrup.”

“Toffee syrup?  That sounds yummy!”

My eyes grow wide as I nod.  “It is yummy.  Can you grab those two sticks of butter from the island right there?  I’m going to melt them in this pot.  Then we add brown sugar and honey and whisk it until it forms a thick syrup.”

“Can I help?”

“Sure.  Can you grab a butter knife and cut the butter into squares?”

He does, and then he helps me toss all the butter into my little saucepan.  We heat it up until the butter has melted.  “Now, we need to add a half cup of brown sugar.”  I reach up and pull the container out of my cupboard.  I peel the lid off.  “Can you grab the scoop and pack it full of sugar?”

As he does this, I ask him, “What does the scoop say?”

He reads it, “A quarter cup.”

“One-fourth of a cup, right.  So how many do you need to use if we need a half of a cup?”

“Two.”  Ah, my math genius at work.

“Very good.”  I watch as he scoops two quarter cups into the pan.  “Now we also need a half cup of honey.”

I grab a measuring cup and spray it with cooking spray before pouring honey into it.  Then I let Abner dump it into the pan.  After I admonish him to be careful because hot syrup burns easily, he whisks it all together while it heats over a medium-hot burner.  Once it’s thick and bubbly, I turn off the burner. 

I cross the room and remove the plastic wrap from the cinnamon rolls.  They rose overnight in the fridge.  Now I scoop a spoonful of the toffee syrup evenly over each roll until all of them are covered and all the sauce is gone.  Abner watches me every step of the way.

“Is it time to bake them?” he asks eagerly.

“Yep.”  I open the oven door and place two of the pans inside.  Then I set the timer for fifteen minutes.

“Is everyone awake?” I ask my youngest son.

He nods.  “They’re all in the living room.  Except Daddy.  I think he’s downstairs playing a game.”

My face brightens.  “Do you know what we need to do now?”

Abs shakes his head.

“We need to make the frosting for the cinnamon rolls.”

His eyes light up.  “Yay!”

I snag a stick of butter from the island and cut off three tablespoons before dumping them into a medium bowl.  I pull my hand mixer down from the little pantry in my kitchen and insert the beaters before blending the soft butter smooth. 

“We need to add a half teaspoon of vanilla and two cups of powdered sugar,” I inform my son.

I pour the vanilla in and blend the butter until its one thick mass.  Then slowly, I begin to add the powdered sugar.  I don’t wish to get a face full of white powder, so I take my time.  My mixer doesn’t need to cast some newly fallen snow all over our clean kitchen floor either.  Finally, I have to add a tad more milk so it will continue to cream. 

“I think it needs more milk, Mommy,” Abner ventures a few moments later.

“It does look too thick to spread on the top of the cinnamon rolls, doesn’t it?” I ask him.

A little more milk, and we are good to go.  I glance at the timer.  “Five minutes until the cinnamon rolls are done!” I announce.

“Yay!”  Abner begins to dance around the kitchen, joy lighting up his little face. 

I soak in the moment, knowing that all too soon, this boy will be a sixteen-year-old.  Then a few more years will flash by, and it will be his child who’s dancing around my kitchen while I slather vanilla frosting on my homemade cinnamon rolls.  I can hardly wait to feed that little kiddo too.  But, for right now, I’m going to bask in the presence of my own dear, little eight-year-old.

As I watch him doing his happy dance, I do a mental inventory of all the food we need to prepare this morning after we open presents.  Ham, potatoes, rolls, sweet potatoes, corn pudding, broccoli casserole, and apricot Jell-O salad.  I sigh as I imagine all the daunting tasks ahead of us today.  I just want to put my feet up and watch several Christmas movies.

“Mommy?  What can I help you with?” asks a bright voice from the doorway.

I glance up at Alastair.  “Good morning!  Thank you, sweetheart.  I need a couple of people to peel potatoes and sweet potatoes.”

“I want to!” Abs chimes in.

“Perfect!”  I help them get settled with a pile of potatoes and two peelers.

They’re up to their eyeballs in peels by the time the first batch of cinnamon rolls is done baking.  In the time that’s elapsed, I’ve managed to get all the broccoli crowns chopped up for the casserole.  They’re steaming in a pot as I slide the last pan of cinnamon rolls into the oven.

“The pies,” I mumble as I shut the oven door.

“Pies?” Kookie echoes me as he stumbles into the kitchen.

“Yes,” I grumble.  “I just realized that we never made the pies for today.”

“That’s okay, Mom.  I can make them later.  First, I want to help you with dinner.  What do you need?”

“Bless you, my son,” I murmur as I gaze at him in relief.  “Could you make the apricot salad?”

“Sure.  Where’s the recipe?”

“In the top box.”

He pulls it down from the cupboard and finds the right recipe.  His eyes peruse the card.  “So, I just dump a can of crushed pineapple and a half cup of sugar into a pan and bring them to a boil before adding two packages of apricot Jello?” he asks.

“Yep.  That’s all you can do right now.  Just whisk it all together, then let it cool on the counter.  You have to let it chill in the fridge until it’s soft set.”

“How long does that take?”

“About an hour altogether, maybe?  Fifteen minutes on the counter and forty-five in the fridge?  I’ve never timed it.  I just check it every so often until it’s done.”

“So after it’s chilled, I beat eight ounces of cream cheese with five tablespoons of milk before blending it all together with the jello mix?”

“That’s right.  Then you fold in the eight ounces of Cool Whip.  Pour the apricot salad into a plastic container and stow it in the fridge until dinner.”

“Yeah, I can make this.  It’s super easy.”

“Thanks, Kookie.  I appreciate all the help I can get.”

“Mommy, can I help you make the broccoli casserole?” Alastair’s sweet, little voice interrupts my reverie as I pull the mayonnaise and cheese from the fridge.

“Sure, honey.  Grab the big metal bowl from the lazy Susan.”  I watch as he pulls a gigantic bowl out.  “No, not that one.  The next size down.”

I run a can of can of cream of mushroom soup under our electric can opener – a gift from God, I can assure you! – and pull the lid off before handing it to Alastair. 

“Scrape all the soup out and pour it into the bowl.”  I give him a few moments to follow my directions before giving him some more.  “Now,” I hand him a metal measuring cup, “we need half a cup of mayonnaise.  While you take care of that, I’m going to dump a half cup of shredded sharp cheddar cheese into our bowl.” 

I upend the bag of cheddar over my measuring cup and let the cheese overflow into our big bowl while I exclaim, “And a little more for good measure!”  The cheese piles up in the bowl and Alastair giggles.

“That’s a lot of cheese, Mommy.”

I lean towards him as my eyes furtively fly left then right as though the cooking spies may be lurking in a corner of my kitchen, lingering to overhear my culinary secrets.  “Can I tell you a secret?”

“What?”  His adorable face lights up.

“Broccoli is really good with a lot of cheese!”

He looks doubtful.  He isn’t fond of casseroles.  He prefers to enjoy his food items one at a time.  No mixing a medley of ingredients together for this kid!  Still, he likes to help me cook.

“Oh!  I almost forgot the tablespoon of lemon juice.”

“Lemon juice?  Why do you put lemon juice on broccoli?”

“Well, it gives the casserole more flavor.  Just a hint of sharpness.  It makes it taste better.  Can you stir it all together now?”  I smile down at him as he grins up at me and begins to stir everything together.

I glance over at the stove.  “I think the broccoli is done steaming,” I remark as I cross to take the hot pot off the stove and dump the broccoli into a colander. 

Once it’s drained, I carry it over towards Alastair.  “Here, kiddo, stop stirring for a moment.  I need to dump the broccoli in.” 

I glance down at the smooth mixture that he’s created.  “You did a great job of mixing it all together.” 

I upend the colander, and we watch as the broccoli covers its sauce.  “Can you stir the broccoli in now?”

He goes to work.  Once he’s done, I help him dump it all into a greased pan.  I cover it with plastic wrap before popping it into the fridge.  Later, I’ll have the little boys help me crush a couple cups of cheese crackers to toss on top before I slide it into the oven to bake.

“Voilà!  The broccoli casserole is done!”  I glance over at my hardworking Kookie.  “The apricot salad is almost finished too.”  My eyes travel to the kitchen table.  Abner is still peeling potatoes.  “Alastair, can you finish peeling the sweet potatoes now?”

He nods and heads straight for the kitchen table.  We’re just one step from being ready to scallop the potatoes.   And the few steps left to finish the sweet potato casserole aren’t all that daunting.  It’s true what they say.  Many hands make for light work!

A few minutes later, I cross the room to encourage my sons to throw all the peels into the compost while I rescue the plates of potatoes.  I rinse them off and immerse them in a pot of water before pulling the last batch of cinnamon rolls from the oven.  I loosen them all from the bottom of the pan.  Then I slather the frosting over the tops of the rolls.  We should eat this last pan first, I think.

I leave the rolls to cool slightly for a couple of minutes while I chop up the sweet potatoes and immerse them under water in a big pot.  The potatoes will get a similar treatment later.  For right now, they’re just taking a bath.  Then I carry the pan of cinnamon rolls and a stack of little plates out to the living room before calling my family to come enjoy the first course of our Christmas brunch.

I think it’s time to take a break from the kitchen.  We need to open a pile of presents before we make eggs and sausage. 

Sometimes, it’s just nice to be home.  It’s good to take it easy and slow down.  I plan to do just that this morning for a couple of hours.  I’m looking forward to watching delight engulf the faces of my children as they open their presents.  Christmas has always been my favorite time of year.

I serve everyone a cinnamon roll before curling up in my recliner.

“What should we start with?” Janna asks. 

But she doesn’t wait for my instructions.  She begins to carry a pile of presents to each of us.  She hands them out according to name.  Pretty soon, everyone has a nice, neat stack of gifts next to their seat.  Okay, that’s not true.  Everyone has a messy pile.  When she’s finally liberated every box and bag from under the tree, Janna takes her place on the love seat across from me.

“To answer your question of a few minutes ago,” I respond while licking frosting off my lip, “Alastair and Abner should open that long, little rectangle.”

“This one, Mommy?” Alastair asks.

I nod while Abner finds his matching box.  “Go ahead, guys.”

Alastair’s face lights up as he opens his box.  “It’s Tae!” he exclaims excitedly as he works furiously to free his Mattel Tae doll from its confines.

“I got Yoongi!” Abs shouts.

This is such a strange universe.  In the old one, Jungkook was his favorite.  My youngest loved the youngest of BTS.  I guess maknaes stick together.  I always envisioned getting Abs the Kookie doll with pink hair and a yellow suit.  Instead, he’s unwrapped dark-haired Suga in a gold and black suit.  But he doesn’t look any less enthused than I imagined he would.

I smile at him.  “You like it, Abs?”

“Yes!”

Janna reaches over and snags the Tae doll out of her younger brother’s grasp.  She begins to comb his hair upward.

Alastair quizzes her.  “What are you doing to Tae?  He looks like a porcupine.  Einstein the porcupine,” he begins to sing.

Janna uses a baby wipe to smooth Tae’s hair.  “There.  It was sticking out every which way.  They put way too much hairspray in his hair.”

Alastair comments, “His hair looks better.”

“I’m an excellent hairstylist,” Janna pats herself on the back.

“Except for when you’re not,” Kookie intones.

“When was that?” Janna shoots back defensively.

“Three words: Einstein the porcupine.”  Kookie giggles.

Janna glares at him.

And, yes, I still keep baby wipes in the house.  They’re great for cleaning.  I’ve gotten grease out of carpet, crayon off of sheets, and carrot juice out of a white shirt.  You should try them sometime.  Just make sure you buy the Huggies brand.  I can’t vouch for the others.

Janna sticks her tongue out at Kookie before handing me a small flat box.  “Merry Christmas, Mom.  It’s from me and Kookie.” 

She glances at him.  He smiles at me and bobs his head silently.  I peer down at the crimson wrapping paper.  I pull on the golden ribbon adorning it.  Its bow falls apart.  I rip the paper off to discover an UNO card set.  Quizzically, I glance up at them both.

“What’s this?”

“Open it, Mom,” Kookie responds with a grin.

I open the box and tip it to allow the cards to slide into my palm.  I’m shocked a moment later as I stare down at a picture of all five of my kids grinning up at me.  I turn to the next card.  It’s flaunting a photograph of Janna smiling sweetly up at me.  The next card is of Kookie laughing, flashing his cute, chubby teeth at me.  The fourth card is Everett smiling subtly.  This would be a perfect shot for a business card.  I chuckle while studying it. 

Alastair beams up from the fifth card, Abner from the sixth.  His sweet wide smile is lighting up my universe again.  As is Alastair’s cute grin.  The seventh card is another group shot: all five of my kids are standing sideways in a row.  They look like stairsteps.  Kookie is on the far left, facing his sister’s back.  Janna, a head shorter than him, stands to the right facing Everett’s back.  She is about six inches taller than Everett, who is facing Alastair’s back.  Finally, Abner makes up the last step.  They all have their heads turned towards the camera.  Each one of them is grinning at me.

The eighth card is a picture of my tiny twins facing each other with their arms wrapped around one another, but they’re both gazing at me with sweet smiles on their beautiful countenances.  The ninth card features Kookie, Janna, and Everett.  Janna is looking up at Kookie as she laughs at something he said.  Grinning Kookie is gazing at Everett who is smiling at me.  As I flip through the rest of the pack, I realize these pictures are simple repeats of the first nine. 

I glance up at my two oldest children.  “You made me UNO cards!  With your pictures on them!”

Janna grins at me.  “We did.  We printed the pictures at the store and cut them to fit.  Then we pasted them on regular UNO cards.”

“I love them!”  I jump up and reach out to embrace them both.  “Thank you!”

My kids are so creative.  But I can tell Janna’s a little embarrassed. 

“You’re not actually going to show them to people, are you?” she asks.

“Aw, come on!  Why wouldn’t you want me to show people pictures of my beautiful kids?”

She cringes.

“Okay,” I sigh.  “I guess I’ll keep them to myself.  Daddy can play with me.  I’m sure he’ll appreciate your pictures too.  And your grandparents would love them….”

“Mahhhhhm,” Kookie and Janna whine in unison.

Laughing, I ruffle Kookie’s hair and pat Janna on the head.  “Okay, okay.  I’ll keep them in my bedroom.”

I reach into my daughter’s pile of presents and pull out a wrapped rectangle.  I hand it to Janna.  “Guess it’s time for your present.”

“Just one?” she asks.

“I do have five children, you know!” I respond with a straight face.

She glances back at the tree.  A few minutes ago, before she passed them all out, gifts were piled up under and around it for as far as the eye can see.  Now her eyes slide around the room, to take in the various piles arranged near everyone’s feet.  Finally, they land on the mound of gifts nestled before her.  “Who are all those presents for then?”

“Oh.  Those presents.  Hmm.  I don’t know.  Who could they be for?”  I glance at my husband.  “Did you hear any reindeer on the roof last night?”

“No, but I did see a jolly – and quite fat – elf eating cookies in our kitchen around three this morning.”

“Daddy!” our children exclaim, laughing.

“Hey!” I holler.  “Your daddy may be jolly, but he’s not fat!”

Kookie bursts out laughing.

Janna begins to open her gift.  She flashes a grin at me.  “Thanks, Mom!”

“It’s from Daddy too,” I murmur, smiling.

“Thanks, Daddy.”

“What’d you get?” Kookie leans toward her, peering over her shoulder.  “Ugh.  BTS?  Another album?  Don’t you already have like five hundred of them?  I’m surprised there’s one in existence that you don’t already own.”

“There are exactly four I don’t own, thank you very much.  It used to be five, but thanks to Mom – and Daddy – I now own The Most Beautiful Moments in Life: Part One, White Album.”

I smile because I know she’s not done opening her presents today.  She’s already spent a fortune on BTS albums.  Now so have I.

“Kookie, we have something special for you,” I announce. 

His eyebrows flirt with the ceiling.  “You do?” he asks in surprise.

I nod before disappearing down the hallway.  A moment later, I call out, “Close your eyes.”  As I enter the living room again, I walk up to him and set his present on the floor.

“You can look now.”

He opens his eyes, and they fly wide.  “Mom!” he exclaims.   His eyes zoom across the room to meet his father’s.  “You bought me another guitar?”

“We know you love your current guitar, but I also knew you’d been eyeing a certain other one.”

“What?  No way!  That guitar was over four hundred dollars!”  He studies the case for a moment before reaching for it. 

He releases the latches and opens it.  An odd sound escapes him as he sees what we bought for him.  His dream guitar.  It’s an acoustic guitar with absolutely amazing sound.  I cannot wait to hear him play it.

“Will you play it for us now?”

His countenance is still trying to recover from the shock.  He nods his head as he pulls the guitar into his lap.  He tunes it before he begins to serenade me.  With…what else? 

O Holy Night.