In my younger years, I remember Christmas from a shimmery lens, with visions of white snow and glowing lights. When you get a little older you start to see what others have, and the white snow becomes a little more dreary and the glowing lights dim, shattered by comparisons of those who “have it better”. Big, happy families celebrating together, with children opening up the newest toys, aunts and uncles preparing the largest meals, and grandparents watching with adoration as everyone cuddles up to enjoy a Christmas movie together. Our holidays were more of my two younger siblings waking me up just a little too early and a little too loudly, me grumbling down the stairs with a blanket snuggled around me, and my older brother refusing to get up. We then would open up our gifts that our parents had struggled to rally up the money for, and 30 minutes later, it was over.

 

My mom and my step dad were both only children, and neither were close to their families. So no big meals after dinner and huge family gatherings, just whatever was in the fridge that night. My mom had longed for a family her entire life, her mom was in a band and would travel around, leaving her at home to fend for herself. Her dad wasn’t around most days either, off celebrating his inheritance with another family. She was lonely most of the time.

 

She dreamed of siblings, and family, and traditions and around Christmas time, that urge grew. So when she had her family and saw that family traditions were passed down over time, she knew she did not have that luxury.She would have to make her own.

 

She didn’t cook. She never enjoyed the mess, and we moved so many times the kitchen was never her home, just another room in a house that wasn’t hers, owned by somebody who charged her a bit too much for just a bit too little. We also didn’t have the money, when the “food pyramid” was presented in my second grade class, I rushed home to tell my mom all I had learned and how we needed to do this! I did not know at the time that these balanced meals were not always attainable for people with our salary and that I would feel the shame of Ramen Noodles and Tyson’s chicken nuggets for years to come.

 

So this tradition she was going to create had to be cheap, and quick, and not messy, but most of all it had to uniquely hers.

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She didn’t have money, she didn’t have the kitchen, she didn’t have the cooking skills. She did however have the desire and longing for Christmas’ her kids would remember. She has this amazing ability to make you feel cozy and warm, and she can turn anything into something special.

 

If anyone was destined to make a tradition, it was her.

 

So when she went to the Dollar Store the night before Christmas, buying stocking stuffers and last minute gifts, she stumbled upon the freezer aisle and there they were. Pillsbury cinnamon rolls, A six pack for about 2 dollars. She picked them up and put them in the fridge when she got home, expecting to make them the next morning, December 25th. I was in sixth grade and my comparative nature was raging stronger than ever, my best friend’s dad was a pilot and her mom a nurse, they would celebrate Christmas on the 24th, which means her family photos were already posted and I had already had a run down of all her gifts, this struck a fiery envy in me I was not proud of. In the morning, I opened all my gifts fast, comparing everything I got to my friend. I can’t recall a single gift.

 

What I do remember however, is the way a new scent spread throughout the house.

 

A delicious decadent scent that is hard to describe. It’s sweet, but not too sweet, savory but not too savory. A couple moments later there they were plopped on a bluish green plate. We had eaten cinnamon rolls before, my mom had even made them for us, but this time was different. “This is our new tradition”, she stated as we all grabbed a roll. And so it was, every Christmas, no matter the situation, no matter the gifts or lack thereof, no matter the kitchen she was in, big or small, she would make the greatest cinnamon rolls my family had tasted.

 

The cinnamon rolls the first year were great.

 

A little bit undercooked which made them doughy in the best way, the icing was put on a bit too early. It was all melty and gooey and so much sweeter than they should be. They were also prepared by my mother, the greatest woman I had ever known. The person I still call anytime I need help, the voice of reason I always rely on, the strongest person I have met. In all senses of the word she is an anomaly. Her parental figures were rarely present, and when they were there was a distance. There was never a warmth or comfort brought to her. And yet here she was, warm and comforting, a mother who was great who was not even set out to be good.

 

And here was her attempt at making it known she cared, that she wanted more for us, that she wanted us to have a tradition.

 

The next year the cinnamon rolls were burnt, the bottoms black because she left them in too long. It didn’t matter, they were the best cinnamon rolls I’d ever had. My family finally had it, a tradition! The taste reminded me of last Christmas, the blue plate that carried the brightness and glimmer my mom carried with her, even on the bleakest of days.
The cinnamon rolls are not even a recipe, they are not a unique skill, they are simply Pillsbury Cinnamon rolls my mom puts on a baking sheet at 350 degrees for about 9 minutes. The cinnamon rolls are not labor intensive, they are not expensive, they are not passed down from generation to generation. At first glance they are not what makes a good “tradition”.

 

What they are, however, is what makes my Christmas’s special.

 

They are something to look forward to, a flavor that reminds me every time of my mother’s love, and the gift she has always been in my life. They are evidence that although we might not have a big family, or a lot of money, we have more than we could ask for. My family will forever be grateful for the gift that is my mother, and the cinnamon rolls she bakes at 350 degrees for about 9 minutes every year on December 25th.