That’s my kid getting creative with our traditional Christmas breakfast of aebleskivers, bacon, sausage, orange juliuses and sadly, no hash browns this year.
I grew up with the painful tradition of being forced to suffer through the preparation of a big, Christmas morning breakfast before we could find out what was waiting for us under the tree. We were allowed our stockings (and Santa was very kind to us here) but presents came later; a fate worse than death for any child.
We’d inspect our stocking loot- punch-ball balloons with animal faces, jewelry, a Pez dispenser (always)- with cheeks full chocolate orange slices or Toblerone, bacon sizzling in the background. The anticipation of our Santa-delivered spoils kept us humming, bouncing and pinging my parents with a relentless stream of questions to the effect of, “Is breakfast ready yet?”
The buzz of the blender was a good sign. Juliuses were on the way. Sipping down that icy, orange cream was the closest I ever got to forgetting about what loomed on the near horizon. Carefully avoiding brain freeze and crunching on little pieces of ice kept us busy long enough to buy my parents a few minutes of peace while they finished preparing a grossly underappreciated breakfast feast.
Of course, being the compassionate mother that I am, I have carried this tradition on with my own children, taking it one step further in torturing them with the long process of turning dozens of aebleskivers in a cast iron pan and sopping them in powdered sugar in addition to our traditional Christmas morning fare. So far I’ve faced very little resistance but only time will tell what the future holds. In retrospect, the drawn out Christmas mornings of my childhood only amplified the magic. Maybe someday my kids will carry on the tradition with their own.