While decorating my parents’ tree last week, I took a picture of Lol and PJ sitting on the couch together.

It may have looked like a normal photo of a mother & son-in-law lounging and having polite conversation, but in reality, they were having an intense, in-depth conversation about Christmas cookies.

This is 90% of their relationship – discussing food and food preparation.

My father, my kids, and I couldn’t care less about any of it. We all pretty much eat whatever anyone puts in front of us, and if no one is cooking, a sandwich is just fine.

But PJ & Lol… it’s like the weight of the world is on their shoulders.

“London Broils are on sale”, “Are you going to Costco this week?” and “Have you defrosted the prime rib yet?” are sentences I’ve heard 10x more often than the average person.

After years of Lol telling us she can’t bake Christmas cookies anymore because it hurts her back, (and an equal amount of years of us telling her to stop), she has finally given in.

So last week, she turned to her culinary confidant, PJ, and they decided that Costco’s cookies are worthy of their money and a place at the Christmas table.

Papal conclaves have nothing on these two. After they came to the decision that we could buy cookies instead of baking them, they burned white smoke and the rest of us cheered in jubilation.

Where Lol cooks enough for – as Pa would say – the Marine Corps, and still always thinks she won’t have enough food (a fear instilled by being raised in an Italian family where the biggest horror of your life is running out of food and your guests telling the entire neighborhood – aka being Malafagula), PJ’s ridiculousness comes from over-ordering.

We currently have 2 enormous boxes of Costco cookies and 3 containers of Royal Dansk on our countertop. You know the ones… the round, blue, metal tins that have tricked kids for decades. You go in for a butter cookie and are severely disappointed when there’s sewing equipment instead.

When I told Lol how many he bought, she acted appalled, but I think she was secretly happy because if she ends up being Malafagula (it’s never happened in my 49 years) then at least we’ll have cookies.

I’m going to the Farmer’s Market with her today to pick up the clams. She’s been losing sleep over them since last week because her original plan was to get them early, prepare them, then freeze them so it’s not so much work right before Christmas, but the guy wasn’t going back to the coast until yesterday, so her plan was foiled.

This sent her into a slight tailspin and she ominously informed me that she has a feeling we’re not going to get the clams at all. She uttered these words with a bone-chilling tone to her voice.

I don’t know, I guess Christmas would be cancelled if we didn’t have stuffed clams. I really think it’s because stuffed clams are the one and ONLY fish PJ will ever eat, and she wants to make sure her partner in culinary crime is happy.

In all seriousness though, I owe it to my mother for always making Christmas special since my very first one.

I recently transferred old 8mm films to digital and one was Christmas morning in 1977.

I had just turned one, and even back then, she was down on the floor, helping us open the tons of presents she got us. You could tell she was a tired, fairly new, young mom, who was just happy to see us happy.

Things haven’t changed. She still wears herself out trying to make sure everyone has what they need, giving generously, and just happy to see others happy. I love you Lol. Thank you ❤️