No Bubbles for Jesus's Birthday

I’ve drastically cut down on my drinking. Especially in the morning.

Christmas 2010

Unfortunately this does not bode well for our Ottawa Christmas tradition of celebrating the birth of baby Jesus with champagne and orange juice, soaked up by some artery clogging cheese and a bucket load full of buttery carbs.

My mother Violet was never to keen on this tradition. Her ideal festive morning would involve a little more cardio, in the form of a brisk walk, or cross country skiing. However, she went gamely on, delivering us our mimosas by the fire in the living room, where we’d be lounging in our pajamas. My sisters enjoyed a little bubbly, Dad thought it was fun, and I thought it was fantastic.

Christmas 2011

This Christmas morning, like all other years, there was champagne. My mother offered it to Sue and I as we lounged by the fire in our p.j.'s. “No thanks,” we said in unison. She looked slightly startled. “Scones, then?” We shook out heads. “Well”, she ventured, “I was thinking of having oatmeal”. Sue and I perked up, “Great!” we said. Slightly baffled, but hesitantly delighted, my mom went back to the kitchen.

Obviously my eating habits have changed. Not only should food be delicious, but it must fuel my body as well. This has been my mom’s philosophy for years, and now (by necessity) I’m fully on board. So, when Vi came out of the kitchen she presented us with a healthy breakfast –and what a breakfast it was. She'd put together a tray of oatmeal, surrounded by pretty little bowls of almonds, blueberries, mandarins, and flax.

Christmas 2012

Somewhere up in heaven my dad was frowning. Christmas wasn’t Christmas without Mahalia Jackson, snow, and champagne. (‘Bring on the Joy Juice!’) Thankfully my younger sister was carrying on the family tradition, celebrating across town with her boyfriend and a glass of something yummy. Later that afternoon they would join us, and there would be more sparkling stuff, (including the traditional bottle that accidentally explodes in the freezer).

But that morning, by the fire, we enjoyed our festive oatmeal. Our tummies were happy, as was our mother. Then we decided on giving her another Christmas bonus. She encouraged us to relax, and  and enjoy the tree and the fire. But no lounging for us! Sue grabbed my hand, and her DVDs and led me down to the basement.

Happy birthday Jesus. It’s time for yoga!