The Christmas of 10 dogs
Christmas as an adult and a parent brings different things than when I was a child. Instead of wondering what present I might unwrap, I worry about whether I’ve forgotten to get someone a gift. Instead of looking forward to ripping apart wrapping paper, I critique the way I folded the paper on that one corner of the box. It isn’t my cute Christmas outfit on my mind; it’s my son’s — and whether it will keep him warm.
The ornaments on the tree aren’t quite as beautiful when your barely walking baby tries to grab the shiny circles as you carry him past, nearly pulling the whole thing down. Meeting Santa was a great idea until we saw the kids in front of us crying the moment they got near him, making every step forward in line another crack in the illusion of the perfect Christmas photo.
These chaotic adult moments are my ghosts of Christmas past, escorting my mind back to the holidays of my childhood — one Christmas in particular. My cousins and I affectionately call it “The Christmas of 10 Dogs.”
My family had recently moved into a new home in American Canyon. My parents, our three small dogs, and I were hosting Christmas for my mother’s side of the family. This wasn’t just a party. My mom’s family is from Southern California, and they would all be staying with us for the holidays.
Five families. Eleven kids. Ten dogs. Under one roof. Convenient for Santa. Complicated for us mere mortals.
When I heard everyone was coming, I was nothing but excited. Even as a child, I knew this was going to be an epic holiday. Looking back now, I wonder how my parents felt taking on Christmas at that scale.
I remember how busy everything was — the preparations and the celebration itself. But when I look back through that frosty window, I don’t see stress or reluctance. I see a family fully immersed in the magic they were creating.
I remember my mom talking through sleeping arrangements as she decorated the house. Outside, a ladder leaned against the window while my dad strung up Christmas lights, “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” playing on our retro boombox. I watched as our house transformed into a Christmas wonderland. To this day, no matter how many guests we have, that transformation still happens.
Now that I’m a parent, I can’t help but put myself in their shoes. I imagine the pressure of pulling off a perfect holiday for everyone. My gift list would rival Santa’s — minus the elves. What would we feed everyone? Where would they sleep? Where would the gifts go? Where would the dogs go? How do you make it all memorable?
The answer was all of it, together. My mom and her sisters joined forces in the kitchen while my dad and uncles fired up the grill. No one went hungry. Cousins turned the living room into a massive sleep-over, inflatable mattresses scattered across the floor. We laughed, shared stories, and teased the cousin who chose to sleep under the kitchen table.
Our backyard became a dog park. One morning, we even walked all 10 dogs along Wetlands Edge. They ran all day, then collapsed beside their families at night. Presents spilled out from under the tree into the living room, and before we could open them, a task force — made up of my cousins and me — had to sort them by family.
The rest of the night was filled with laughter, food, kids playing with new toys, that same retro boombox setting the mood, and memories being made to last a lifetime.
Having that much family under one roof was the Christmas spirit. Not the presents. Not the logistics. Not the outfits, perfectly wrapped gifts, or flawless Santa photos.
Christmas as an adult and a parent brings different things than when I was a child. When it was our turn to meet Santa, he asked me what I wanted for Christmas. I flashed back to wishing for toys, books and cell phones. Now, my wish is simple: that everyone — especially my son — has a truly merry Christmas and a happy New Year.
