Christmas Eve Traditions: Covered in Prosecco, I Wish You a Merry Messy Christmas

6:30 p.m. These four chunky salmon fillets, which my husband and I bought this morning at a bustling HMart, are in the oven, covered in maple/soy sauce; Greg is in the kitchen, commenting on how good my salmon smells and making his trademark linguine with broccoli and sun-dried tomato recipe. The boys are upstairs, relaxing after the 5 p.m. Christmas Mass. I am listening to the Roches on Pandora Radio. Cari Donaldson is hosting a linkup about Christmas Eve, so here is mine.  (We always have seafood on Christmas Eve and we always attend either the 5 p.m. or Midnight Mass.)

7:40 Dinner is over. I managed to surreptitiously take photos of my husband and our sons during dinner. Am I the only mother whose family hates having their pictures taken? To be fair, I don't like having mine taken either.

My husband with his fabulous pasta dish in the foreground. 

When we married, this was the first dish he taught himself to make and it remains his finest.

Gabriel, 16. He thinks I am taking a shot of our Advent wreath.

Lucas, 13, eating Greg's Cesar Salad. By then, they all had caught on to the fact I was taking pictures of them with my phone, so the picture is a bit fuzzy. Moments later, Gabriel put his hands in front of the phone.

Later tonight, we will eat some cake leftover from a gathering we had with friends last night. We generally have friends over on Dec. 23, our "Christmas Eve Eve party." Later this week, we head to New York State to visit with my parents and my sister and her family.

8:30 p.m. My husband is upstairs sleeping. Gabriel is waiting from a text from a friend, who's taking him to a Christmas service at his own church. Lucas is upstairs practicing his trumpet. (My husband must be really tired to be sleeping in the room next door) 

Tomorrow morning, we will open presents. When I was growing up, my mom always made cranberry orange bread for Christmas morning. My husband's family always went to Dunkin' Donuts and bought a dozen doughnuts. Guess which tradition won out in our home?

I'd like to write more about the wonderful 5 p.m. Mass we went to at our parish, how my family ended up in a pew with young adults in front and behind us, young adults whose parents asked them to go to Mass and for whom the Church has lost meaning. I prayed for them, and for the hearts of all of us, that we might understand, as Father Peter Cebulka, C.O.  preached, that Christ came into the mess of human life, not to deliver us from it, but rather to be with us in the mess. 

I would like to write more about that, but our puggle just knocked over the drink in my hand and now I am covered in Prosecco. Happy Messy Christmas to all.