Change is inevitable. Everything evolves and shifts, molding with time. Nothing stays the same forever. Every tick of a clock signifies that something has changed; whether it be the temperature or a person, something has changed. As a child, change was something I never thought about much. I didn’t worry about big changes. I didn’t think about one of my parents losing their job, or moving far away from all the people I knew and loved. I didn’t even worry about small alterations, like one of my friends taking up a sport that I had no interest in. Things change, and even though children are some of the most observant creatures in the world, they can be oblivious to things shifting.

Christmas, 2006. The tree was up. It had been up since Thanksgiving, when my sister and I, along with all of my cousins, decorated the old artificial tree. My Auntie Julie supervised. She liked being in charge.

“Who’s the boss?” she would ask us, a large smile spread across her face.

“You are! You are!” we would all exclaim. Auntie Julie was everyone’s favorite. She was wild, smart, and rich. She would spoil us rotten, but never let us be bratty about it. While we worshipped Auntie Julie, she felt the same way about her grandma, our great-grandma, Grandma Anding. Every Christmas Eve everyone on my mother’s side of the family would gather at Grandma Anding’s house. This included my Great Uncle and Aunt, my mother’s cousins whose names I would always forget, and last, but certainly not least, The Cousins. Allison, Meredith, Lauren, and Lars. The four loud, bossy, sassy, and charismatic cousins who my sister and I loved with all of our hearts. Once we were older we would spend all of our time writing skits, singing songs and putting on performances at Christmas, but for now, we just played together, usually “House,” and nagged our parents to let us open presents.

The Christmas Eve that sticks out most in my mind of our many at Grandma Anding’s is the one year when I was obsessed with American Girl Dolls. I had one, Nellie. We looked identical. Blue eyes, freckles, shoulder length strawberry blonde hair with bangs. Whenever my hair started to get too long, I would cut it, so I could be like Nellie. Unsurprisingly, I owned all of the American Girl Doll books that involved Nellie or her best friend, Samantha.

“Mom,” I yelled, “look what I got, look!” I was waving the Samantha movie in her face. I was clutching Nellie in my other hand.
“That’s so cool, Natalie,” my mother said in her voice she reserved for small children. “Who gave it to you?” I set my movie down and examined the Christmas themed wrapping paper. When I finally discovered the sticker, I shoved it towards my mom. My reading, though advanced for a child my age, did not extend to reading cursive writing.

“I can’t read cursive,” I told her.

“To: Natalie, Love: Grandma Anding,” I looked up at the old, frail lady sitting on a chair, overseeing the mass of wrapping paper and loud children. She looked like a Queen on her throne. My mom gave me the look, and even though I was still young, I knew what it meant. Standing up, Nellie in one hand, the DVD in the other, I ran over to my Great Grandma. I stood there, waiting for her to finish her conversation with one of my mom’s cousins. Her attention finally turned to me.

“Thank you for the movie, Grandma,” I said, smiling at the ground. I was a very shy, quiet child.

“You’re welcome,” she said in her raspy voice, “it comes with a locket, see?” Her old hands tried to open the packaging, but failed. A relative helped unwrap the many layers of plastic and finally the gold, heart shaped locket was unearthed. The necklace hung around my neck for the rest of the night. When the clock chimed eight times, my parents exchanged looks. While my cousins and I were happily playing in the wrapping paper, my parents were saying their goodbyes. My sister and I were retrieved and also forced to say our goodbyes. We loaded up everything in our mini van and started the two hour drive back to Whitefish Bay.

These Christmas Eve car rides were some of the happiest memories that I have. Soft Christmas music played in the background as my sister and I talked about what Santa might bring the next morning. We played with our new toys in the back seat. Every year I convinced myself that the red light in the sky was Santa’s sleigh, when in actuality it was probably just an airplane. After two hours of this, my sister and I would pretend to be asleep so my parents would have to carry us into the house.

A lot has changed since that Christmas. I have since then put away Nellie, I have lost the locket and Grandma Anding has died. We have new traditions now. My family stays in Milwaukee on Christmas Eve. It has been this way for a couple of years. We go to the Christmas Eve mass at Gesu, the only time I am ever willing to go to church. Then we all come home and have crepes, my dad’s mother’s recipe. After dinner, our family exchanges presents with one another. To finish the night, we watch a Christmas special and go to bed. That is the way it has been for years. But things change.

Christmas, 2013. The tree was up. It has been since Thanksgiving when my family decorated it together. We fought about what tree to get, what ornaments should go on the tree, where the ornaments should go on the tree, etc. That should have been a sign to us that this Christmas wouldn’t be so merry.

I came downstairs and felt my mother’s disapproving eyes on my bare legs. I pulled at my skirt, willing it to go just a little bit lower. It didn’t work. My father was standing by the front door, looking at his watch.

“We have to go,” he said irritated.

“I know, Tom,” my mother said, equally annoyed. She yelled up the stairs for my sister to come down. Meghan stomped down the stairs.
“Happy? You rushed me and I look terrible,” Meghan said, grabbing her coat from my mom. I rolled my eyes. It was always like this. Meghan always had to pick a fight. She could never just shut up. I was stupid to think that today would be any different.

Things on the car ride to church were fine. No one really talked, we just listened to Christmas music. I thought maybe the bickering from earlier would have been a one time thing and that would the worst of it. Oh, how wrong I was.

We entered the church to find that most of the pews were filled. Much to our surprise, my dad’s aunt and uncle were sitting in a somewhat empty pew. They were my dad’s only relatives in Milwaukee. The saw us and motioned for us to sit down with them. We did so, and things were going fine.

“What are your plans for after this?” my father asked.

“Nothing really,” my Uncle Bob, or as my father called him, UB, said.

“Well, what if you all came over for dinner?” my dad offered. I felt my sister go rigid next to me. She whipped her head to look at my mom who was smiling at Uncle Bob and Aunt Carol. She elbowed my mom.

“No, Mom, they can’t come over for dinner. They’ll ruin Christmas!” she whispered in a tight voice. I closed my eyes and sighed. Meghan and Mom went back and forth almost all of mass in whispers. There were tears in Meghan’s eyes. When Mass was ended and we “went in peace” as the priest said we could, the four of us walked out to the car.

“I can’t believe you did that, you ruined Christmas,” my sister yelled at my dad, tears pouring down her face. I was looking at my sister in disbelief. My dad started to drive home.

“No, Meghan, I did not ruin Christmas, I invited Uncle Bob and Aunt Carol over for dinner,” my dad said, his voice getting louder. My sister was in hysterics now. She was kicking the back of my mom’s seat, screaming and crying. My dad was getting more and more mad by the second. I could hear my mom crying. I listened to the Christmas music that was softly playing in the background, my eyes on a red light in the sky. I was old enough now to know it was an airplane and not Santa.

Silent night, holy night. All is calm, all is bright.

“You ruined Christmas, you ruined it,” my sister screamed.

Holy Infant so tender and mild.

My dad threw his gloves against the windshield and I felt the car swerve. “Shut up,” he screamed back at her.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

Meghan was crying, Mom was crying, Dad was yelling. No one remembered I was here. Well, they were about to remember.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

“No, Meghan, Dad didn’t ruin Christmas, he was trying to make it better for someone else,” I screamed at her. Everyone got quiet. The only other noise was Meghan’s sobs. “If anyone ruined Christmas, it’s you. The world doesn’t revolve around you, and you need to get over yourself. You ruined it and I hope you’re happy,” I yelled in her face. I didn’t realize that I had been crying all of this time. I couldn’t contain it anymore. I was tired of watching my sister ruin everything and having my parents barely reprimand her. She needed to learn that she isn’t the center of the universe and once she gets out into the real world no one would bend over backwards to accommodate for her unrealistic commands.My mother broke into another round of tears and my dad looked ready to kill. Merry Christmas.

Uncle Bob and Aunt Carol arrived at our house fifteen minutes after we got home. They stopped off at the CVS to buy some wine to thank my parents. They were so happy that they wouldn’t feel so alone on Christmas Eve. They would be with family, while their children were off with their own families. My sister stomped up to her room the moment we got home. My parents and I tried our best to keep our relatives happy and ignorant to the situation. Ignorance is bliss. It felt odd that night. I didn’t like having to pretend everything was okay when there was so much anger and sadness bubbling up inside of me. Everything felt so fake. Meghan came down from her room when dinner was ready and pretended everything was fine. We all did, and it worked.

But the evening was tainted. No matter how hard we tried to be happy, we couldn’t. It was ruined, and I couldn’t fix it. I think that’s what hurt the most. I’ve always been the one to fix things, to give into Meghan to make her happy. But I couldn’t glue the broken pieces back together. That was the worst part, knowing that I couldn’t make it better.

Things change, people change. There are ups and downs. Not every car ride on Christmas Eve can be peaceful and happy like the one when we were driving home from Grandma Anding’s. Not every car ride will be like the most miserable drive of my life. Meghan has never been okay with change, and it’s the little things that set her off. I’ve never been okay with the way Meghan treats my parents, and it’s the big things that set me off. Things turned out fine. We forgave and forgot and moved on. Life goes on. Now, I am only left to wonder what next Christmas will bring.