Friday

MOM! Santa doesn't like diet coke!!!

As one of Jehovahs Witnesses, I don't celebrate Christmas, Easter, Birthdays, ETC. But, I wasn't born a Jehovahs Witness and before my mom and I started studying with them we did celebrate Christmas up until I was about eleven years old. This is about the time my mom and I started to affiliate ourselves with Jehovahs Witnesses. During those eleven years never ONCE did my family and I ever leave out cookies and milk for "Santa Claus."

Although its hard to tell if you look at me, I have a great deal of Mexican heritage in my blood line. Its easier to see when you look at my mother. And my mothers hispanic father (or my papa) owned a restaraunt, and passed down a great deal of his hispanic recipes, cookbooks, and "secrets" to my mom. So the short and short of it is, she makes a mean authentic enchilada. My dad loves Mexican food, and he LOVES my moms cooking. Since he is was our secret "Santa", he got to decide what we laid out for Santa on Christmas Eve. My dad isn't a huge sugar fan, he is more of a salty person. Apparently he wasn't thrilled with the idea of having to eat a whole package of cookies in the middle of the night. So he decided that "Santa gets so tired of milk and cookies! Mandy, there isn't enough protein in that! We are going to mix it up, and give him a little variety. He would so appreciate moms enchiladas, and some diet coke." U remember my toddler sized voice rising in panic saying: "BUT DAD SANTA DOESN'T LIKE DIET COKE! HE WANTS COOKIES AND MILK! WHAT IF HE DOESN'T LIKE THE ONIONS???" Then my dad told me that Santa would probably send bigger presents because he like the enchiladas so much. And here starts the family tradition of making Santa homemade enchiladas and diet coke.

As anybody who has ever made authentic mexican food before, it is generally an all day project. This is how we used to spend Christmas Eve. As a family Christmas Eve moved way too slow, so we had to fill the day with activies to distract us. So we would start our mornings early by heading to the grocery store and getting all of the ingredients needed to make enchiladas. All four of us (at the time my younger brother and sister weren't yet born) would go, and split up into twos and gather all of the nececssary items. I remember always trying to race my brother through the isles to see who could get all of their items to the checkout line first. (We would generally split up me and my dad, vs. my brother and my mom)

After this hour and a half long excursion, we would head home and the first thing we would do is make homemade salsa. Since part of the tradition is not eating a big meal unitl dinner, but rather just snacking all day, we would snack on chips, salsa, and plain tortillas all day. After we set up the snack food on the table, we would set to work making the enchiladas. The memories are a little fuzzy now, because I was never fond of cooking so the hours of making the enchiladas was never incredibly fun for me. My goal was to sneak as much cheese as i could inbetween layering the tortillas while my parents weren't looking. That was probably the only reason I didn't just go find something else to do.

Inbetween the hours of baking the giant, heavy pans of enchiladas (one without onions for me and my brother, one beef, and one chicken), we would play games to pass the time along. Eventually dinner time would come, and the excitement would build. After all, salsa and tortillas can only fill you up to a certain point before you feel as if you are starving to death. We would eat, and eat, and eat until there was a noticeable different in how our bellys looked. Then we would sit and talk about good of cooks we all are, and speculate on what Santa might be bringing for christmas. Eventually my little brother would start yawning and nodding off, and my parents would start cleaning up the dinner mess. My job was always to clear the table, by then the enchilada pans weren't as heavy and easier to carry to the kitchen. Then without being told, I would get out the glass, the fork, the knife, and the plate for Santa. My dad would drop a large amount of enchiladas onto the plate, dollop a generous serving of sour cream on top, and poured the diet coke with ice. (How my dad could go back for seconds after that huge meal, AND drink lukewarm coke I will NEVER know)

Every year I used to get so stressed about Santa not liking the food, I never liked being different. But every year, the enchiladas were gone and a thank you note was left. (Typed, so we couldn't recognized the handwriting) I would wake up and run to the kitchen to make sure he ate it all, and then wake everybody in the house and go wait by the tree. It never dawned on me how my dad used to look so sick and bloated in the morning.

So as one of Jehovahs Witnesses, I dont miss Christmas, but I do miss the enchilada tradition. After I told my mom that one day, we designated one day out of the year to enchilada day. So now, once a year we do this enchilada tradition. Only now, my dad doesn't have to eat two giant helpings!