Tradition

Traditions are a funny thing.

This may or may not come as a surprise to you, but I am a sucker for a cause; and if you think about it, traditions are all just a bunch of little causes trying to make it. They're all just trying to stay relevant; and I have to be honest, I am rooting for them. I even considered putting a menorah up in our window this year (bring on the latkah, am I right?!), and I really want to do the whole Elf on a Shelf thing and I don't even have a kid. I just want to make memories, people.

Anyhow, this week, I started to take notice of all of the traditions Jeff and I adhere to. For one, we had our first spaghetti cook-off in the new house this week, which is what really got me thinking.

Let me explain.

A little over a year ago, Shelley and I were discussing the culinary nuances of Prego versus Ragu. I cook my spaghetti with Prego and she uses the lesser of the two Ragu. We debated the matter in detail and could not [by any means] come to an amicable end. Therefore, we did what sisters do, and decided to let our spaghetti do the talking. We had a good ol' fashioned cook-off. (While I knew this would end in tears for my Ragu-cooking-sister, I thought it was only fair.)

We have had a spaghetti cook-off about once a month ever since (save the months our kitchen was packed in a storage unit). On Wednesday of this week, we had our inaugural dinner at the house. Mom, Dad, and all of the kids were here. It was a particularly special night as it was also the day before Autumn's 12th birthday.

It was our first real family dinner at the house; and it was also the first time I looked around the kitchen and wished that Maw Maw was there to see everyone at the table.

It's funny, I don't know how old I was when I stopped spending the night at this house. I suppose I was probably around Autumn's age, but sometimes I have really vivid flashbacks of spending time here when I was little. They always hit me at the oddest times; like when I wake up to get some water in the middle of the night, or when I am about to go to bed. (There has never been a lot of overhead lighting in this house, so it must be something about the lamp-light that brings back these memories.) Anyhow, this picture of Autumn made me particularly nostalgic. She is sitting in what used to be her great grandmother's house. How is that for some tradition?

And then there's this guy:

 

The person with whom I have so many traditions. The guy who comes from a beautifully nuclear and normal family, yet didn't bat an eye the day I pulled out the flow chart to explain how I'm related to my siblings. The guy who doesn't even let out a sigh when I say that we're having everyone over for spaghetti and cake (on his one night off) -- and oh yeah, can you please pick up some garlic bread and buy some balloons. The guy who took on a second job, so that we could remodel the house while I'm in grad school, and then lights the candles on my niece's birthday cake. For me, this guy is what family is about; and just look at him -- he's gorgeous, too.

Honestly, I love all of our weird-spaghetti-cooking-traditions, and this time of year always gets me sappy about my family even if I know they all secretly prefer Shelley's spaghetti because it has meat in it. So what if I'm not Jewish and don't have any kids; I'm putting up a menorah tomorrow -- and that elf is going to be on my shelf by morning.

Happy merry everything, all. Here's to making ridiculous traditions with the ones you love.

Ryan