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2002-11-28 - 5:04 a.m.

Let the Holiday Wars commence!

In October my mother and I begin combat campaign planning. Nothing major, some minor engagements and scrimmages over Christmas lists and a little battlefield surveillance for when we haul out the big guns. We're alike in many ways, but our stubborn refusal to surrender is our most common trait. Neither of us, by gawd, is going to be the first to raise the white flag!

Today we will deploy and open fire.

Thanksgiving leftovers will be one battle of the day. Circumstances change over the years, and several years ago the aunts and uncles and cousins broke out into separate family units for holiday celebrations. Now it's just Mom and me at the table. Nevertheless, Mom will still cook and offer up a bountiful feast for 20! An enormous turkey centering the table, surrounded by a mountain of stuffing (chestnut this year), three or four pounds of mashed potatoes, a gravy boat the size of the Queen Mary II, gallons of noodles, two or three large serving bowls of vegetables, homemade bread and spinach salad. And chocolate pecan pie.

The first fisticuffs will fly when I see the table heaped with food, look around for the 18 or so guests this smorgasbord would serve and discover she and I and Emma are the sole partygoers for the banquet. Enough leftovers for two months. I don't want them, and neither does she, so we sit down for the first of our holiday meals and bicker about the future of the leftovers! At least we'll be doing battle at the kitchen table. We used to engage in this skirmish--with intermittent squabbles over the truant gift lists--down the length of the formal dining room table. Finally, two years ago I convinced her we could better connect our blows at the smaller kitchen table.

A year ago, after dueling away the dinner hour, she announced she was not cooking the next year. We could get two deli plates from Hy-Vee and call it dinner. Sounded damned fine by me. I could close up the Styrofoam carryout container and toss it in the garbage. Sayonara, leftovers! But that's not going to happen today. Yesterday, after a razor sharp notice that she wasn't cooking for Grant's Army, she recited her planned menu. Fer crissake, she痴 gonna do it again!

In the afternoon we値l change battlefields and take our seasonal ruckus to my home. It痴 imperative she take charge of decorating my home for Christmas. I am, in her eyes, terminally bereft of any domestic sense and hopelessly lost when it comes to Christmas ornamentation. If she doesn稚 take charge and make sure it痴 done, it won稚 get done!

So off we値l go into our second fracas of the day.

I値l have the bannister garland twisted around my neck. She値l lambaste my fumbling and bumbling. I値l lay the garland on the mantel with the electric plug on the side without an outlet; she値l question my intelligence. I値l beg for a coffee break, she値l crack the whip! I値l bring out a wrinkled tree skirt and place it around the tree; she値l haul it back up and go in search of the iron. I値l load ornaments too heavy on the right side of the tree, leaving the left pitifully bare. She値l lecture me on the rudiments of decorating and re-do it. I値l huff and balk at putting garland on the front porch railing; she値l assume supreme command and force me into the basement to fetch it, then bounce my sorry behind out into the cold to hang it. I値l beg for a coffee break, she値l insist we clean house after our decorating work!

I値l ask for a gift list. She値l adamantly refuse. A few minutes later she値l ask me for gift ideas. I値l adamantly refuse.

Battle lines will be drawn!

Yesterday I purchased a fine bottle of White Merlot so I could find refuge from the blitz of holiday battles commencing at noon today. When the sun goes down, and when we致e retreated to our respective safe havens, I値l heat a bowl of noodles and build a cold turkey sandwich from the leftovers Mom has smuggled into my refrigerator, then uncork the wine and engage in some strategic planning on how I値l win the war of getting her Christmas gift list.

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