Last year, the three of us were standing on a drafty, cold platform in Hengelo. It was the morning of the 24th, and we were waiting for our train to Berlin.
It never came. For winter-related reasons: the overhead wires near Hanover were frozen. Not a single train headed east that day. And every square meter between Zeeland and the Baltic Sea was covered in meters of snow. There was no escaping it.
This year it’s 7 degrees, and no matter where you look: not a single snowflake. Now the most recent developments (read: Lotta’s birth) are keeping us housebound this year. And so we’re celebrating Christmas with our own little family.
That means coming up with our own traditions. Not traveling to Berlin, where everything’s always ready to go. Ordering a goose ourselves and figuring out how to cook it in the oven. Putting together our own Christmas platter, inviting family over for Boxing Day. Deciding in what order we’ll spend Christmas Eve.
It seemed like it would be difficult, but so far it’s all worked out—and it’s even been romantic. My boyfriend J. and my son M. cycled to the soccer field while I wrapped the presents and the homemade Kartoffelsalat waited in the fridge.
When the men of the house returned, we called our German family on Skype, exchanged holiday wishes, and laughed at the three-year-old boy happily holding his grandma’s Christmas cookies up to the webcam.
And then—candles lit, a single ring of the newly purchased bell—and time to unwrap the presents.
Traditional potato salad with sausages, and afterward—a bit less traditional in my case—off to the local church service.
Plus: everyone went to bed late.
And today? Reading half a book, watching half a movie. Lounging on the couch and eating even more cookies and chocolate. And above all, not going outside.
The goose is thawing, so there’s more work to be done today. Dinner with eight adults and two kids.
Christmas as it should be. Here, too. Just the four of us.
Het was leuk en de gans was lekker……