Christmas Traditions I'll Never Do Again

seven: "sin"namon rolls

On Christmas morning, there's a sense of relief when I hear all of the kids' footsteps pounding down the hall. So they're still excited about the day, considering the whole Santa-thing?

My relief turns into stone-cold terror when my door is flung open and Dusty, Jemma, and Eloise come racing into the room, dressed in red plaid flannels.

I sit bolt upright, my mouth open to protest, but am tackled back into bed and nearly bounced into space.

"Me-rry Chri-stmas!" Dusty shouts, her words broken up every time she jumps.

"Merry Christmas, Aunt Bev," Eloise says, more refined as she sits politely beside me.

Once my soul returns to my body, I smile. Warmth fills my chest, and I wonder if this is what the stuffed animals at Build-A-Bear feel like when they get those plastic hearts put into them.

Jemma comes close to my ear and whispers, "Mom got me a LEGO set, watercolors, and paper."

"How do you know that?" I whisper back.

"Because I snuck into her room and--"

"Okay," I say loudly. "What did we say about giving incriminating evidence?"

"Riiiiiight." Jemma winks and pretends to zip up her lips.

Eloise pulls a package from behind her back and hands it to me.

I'm about to thank her when I notice the odd expression on her face.

"What?" I ask.

Eloise turns guilty eyes up at me. "You're not gonna like it, but you have to. Mom said so."

With that, they scramble off the bed and disappear out the door. I can still hear them screaming as they go downstairs, marveling at all the gifts.

I cautiously open the box and have to resist the urge to say what I think out loud.

They're matching pajamas, just like the red flannels the girls were wearing.

I can only assume everyone else is wearing them, too.

Do I want to look like an army of lumberjacks? No. Do I have a debt to pay to Aimee? Yes.

So I put on the pajamas and head downstairs.

The scene is blinding.

So much red. So much plaid. So much...merriment.

All the kids are fairly bouncing on their toes, looking like caged Tasmanian devils just waiting for their gates to be opened.

But where's Aimee?

"Merry Christmas, Beverly!" Cassy says after taking a sip of her coffee. "Aimee's in the kitchen getting some cinnamon rolls out of the oven."

"Oh, thanks," I say.

I need to make this right. This is what Finn would do.

I open the kitchen door and peek my head inside. "Morning."

Aimee glances up at me over her reading glasses and moves to cover whatever is on the counter. "Don't look!" she says, panicked. "I...I messed up."

I frown curiously as I sneak closer. "What's going on?"

Before she can intercept me, I dodge around her to see the cinnamon rolls arranged on a piece of tinfoil.

"It was supposed to be a Christmas tree," she says.

But a Christmas tree it is not.

The frosting is clumped together with chunky sprinkles, dyed a mustard-green color, and the pattern resembles no earthly form, much less a tree.