Even if you don't celebrate Christmas, my wish to you is the same—that you enter 2022, knowing you are loved.

Hello and happy Christmas Eve to you, !

From the "You know you're getting old when..." files...

Last night, from about 2 to 3 AM, I was laying in bed with my nightly insomnia (oh, for a cave door to have to be on guard for...), pondering.

Since tomorrow is Christmas day, the day my growing-up family always had our big dinner, I was remembering those good old days—good for me since I was a kid and was never asked to help with any of the food prep or clean-up! (NOt so good for Mom and my aunts).

I thought I'd tell you the story of the Christmas dinner that went down in Bloom family history as the best of times (for storytellers) and the worst of times (for my grandmother, who hosted the dinner every year).

Let me set the scene. Nonnie (that is what I called my dad's mom), lived in a 100-year-old house. The rooms were small; cozy, one could say, if one was feeling nostalgic.

Nonnie was a widow who had three kids: Auntie E who was married and had two boys; Auntie K, who was single; and my dad, who had three hellions, I being the eldest. That's five grandchildren.

So, picture a proud matriarch at the head of a dining room table made to comfortably seat six people—but with six adults, four teenagers and a seven-year-old squashed around it, elbows bashing into each other.

Dinner is over. The table has already been cleared of turkey, mashed potatoes, Brussel sprouts and probably four empty bottles of wine. Dessert of two, maybe three pumpkin pies and whipped cream is now being served. With... another bottle of wine.

Dad says something that makes Auntie K threaten to flick a forkful of whipped cream at him. Uncle B says something that irks Dad, who takes Auntie K's lead and threatens to mess up Uncle B's perfectly coiffed hair... things digress quickly and I'm pretty sure it was one of us kids who threw the first piece of pie.

Result? The carpet and walls ended up wearing more pumpkin pie and whipped cream than was put into bellies.

It's possible, even likely, that wine was spilled, or maybe even thrown...

What is undebatable is that Nonnie's 1950s wallpaper, carpet and dining room upholstery got an unexpected update to 1970's colors and styles.

Here's Dad and Auntie E at Christmas dinner a year or two later—with lots of room for elbows since we teens were set-up for dinner on card tables in the den after that meal.

Here's my, "You know you're getting old when" moment.

As I was thinking about that Christmas dinner at 2 AM, I thought it would be a fun one to tell you. And then I thought, "Wait. I've already told you this story. I don't want to be the party guest who tells the same story every year while guests smile, but discreetly roll their eyes."

I spent at least thirty minutes looking through past emails I've sent and couldn't find the keywords I'd have expected to use, like "pumpkin" or "wallpaper." But I still had this niggling feeling that I have told this story before.

And then I remembered (if "remembering" is the same as searching for keywords in all my books). And if you've read Third Party, my second chance Christmas romcom with a meddling Nana... then you might recognize the similarities between the Christmas Eve dinner referred to as "the great gravy incident" which results in Nana having to repaint her dining room and all the teenage Rhodes brothers being forced to eat future Christmas dinners at card tables.

And just because I love this picture so much—and it's one of the few I have of my Nonnie who was, in large part, the inspiration for Nana in all the books in my series—here's a photo from 1968. I am the leggy, cheeky kid with the bob haircut and the baby is my sister, born 14 days before Christmas.

Since we're all dressed up, I assume this was taken on my second birthday, in February.

Still looking for Christmas romances (because you've read Third Party, already)?

Ordering a Christmas Snack by Scarlett Woods

She’s a small-town cake decorator destined for more. He’s a sexy man for hire with many hidden talents. Will a mix-up with an online ordering service leave these two cooking up love, or is this interaction toast before it even starts?.

Waiting Under the Mistletoe by Elsie James

I never thought I’d move back to my small town, but an offer to turn my blog into a holiday baking show is one I can’t refuse. When my older brother’s best friend turns out to be the production manager, all is merry and bright. He’s tall, handsome, and I want to deck his halls.

And if you have elves (or a lovely person like Mr Bloom) making all the meals this weekend, leaving you have lots of time to read a couple of books, every one of these promos is filled with holiday romances. So. Many. Mistletoe kisses!

As the evening of the day before Christmas winds down, I am going to give Mr Bloom the only gift he wants from me this weekend—to step away from my desk and be jolly-well focused on him.

He'll be making a ham tomorrow for a small gathering of our two adult sons and his ex-wife, who's bringing scalloped potatoes and dessert.

We've celebrated Christmas dinner with ex-Mrs Bloom (Mrs ex-Bloom?) every year since I've known him since their son was five-years-old when Mr Bloom and I met. It didn't feel right to break their family tradition, so Mr Bloom has both his wives at the table for birthdays and important holidays.

And I love it. I like his ex-wife and she likes me. What could be more joyful than adults acting like adults around the holidays!?

Wishing you and yours a safe holiday weekend with the person, people or pets you love.

love & familystuff,

Danika

xo

PS - You know I love to hear your stories. What's your most memorable holiday meal, be it Christmas, winter equinox, Groundhog Day or a summer picnic?