Sometimes, I think my family has too many Traditions. 

It all starts on the very first second of the new year, when we all tip our wine (or grape juice) glasses to the sky and celebrate surviving another year.

And then there is calm for a few months. A few birthdays and maybe a nice Valentine’s Day dinner here and there, but ultimately the calm before the storm.

And then April arrives and all Hell breaks loose. Easter is a frenzy of egg dying, treasure hunts, and Easter Morning Masses, and the teenagers in the family wishing that they had been born Jewish. 

And then there are the birthdays that come on every other day of the month, leaving those of us who were born on the opposite end of the year to wonder if we were adopted. There are an average of eight birthday parties every April to the ten or eleven people who age by one year in that month. There is a lot of running around and a lot of falling down and a lot of yelling and a lot of cake and before we know it

May is here, and school is almost over and there are concerts and graduations and softball games to sit through. 

And then June is upon us and we all can breathe again. 

Often, June and July and even some of August seem like a cruel respite from the madness,

Because by the end of August everyone is frazzled again because SCHOOL IS STARTING AGAIN AND WE HAVE TO GO SHOPPING!!!!!!! That’s always fun.

September is just a month that comes and goes quicker than it should and then

October pulls us back into the thrill of holiday as Halloween approaches and brings with it 

Masks, and costumes, and obscene amounts of candy that makes the M&M Factory look small.

November is the month that most of us begin to go crazy. There are turkeys to stuff, pies to bake, fights to be had, and football to watch. Traveling to Grandmother’s house the night before and then to another’s for the actual Thanksgiving feast the next day

And don’t even get me started on Black Friday. I’m surprised no one has ended up in a mental institution yet. But then we all get together on that Saturday and eat crepes because we need to represent the French blood in our DNA, then we form a bucket brigade and some poor soul climbs into my grandmother’s attic and hands down her eighty boxes of Christmas decorations (I may be exaggerating a bit there). Then we pile into cars and trucks and minivans and we drive to the local, family-owned Christmas tree shop down the road and all kill trees together for a while.

And then comes December, the big Kahuna of holiday months. If anyone were to be put into a mental institution, the rest of us would be too busy to notice. It begins on the 24th and we all begin to lose our minds—a bright and early morning making desserts wrapping last-minute presents, and putting up decorations. An afternoon filled with bad caroling, ugly sweaters, and old Christmas war stories told by the great aunts and uncles. By night, all anyone is worried about is keeping the eggnog spiked, keeping the house warm, and keeping the kids asleep while they prepare for the chaos that will follow in the morning . . .