My family celebrated Christmas Eve in Portland with friends, but early Sunday morning we packed the car with presents and treats and took off to Grandma’s house, to the family celebration up north. My grandparents live in a great big, old house. It sits on top of a big, steep hill just past the town center. A historical landmark in town, it was built well over 200 years ago, was involved in the underground railroad and once served as an small inn. I suppose I’m biased, but I like to think that our family’s memories trump it’s more historical roots.

Anyways, Christmas this year was extra special. Last year, my Grandma was sick in the hospital, recovering for a string of surgeries, and too sick to travel north for the holiday season. To be honest my family didn’t know if she would make it through that season, so for her to be recovered, and back in Maine to celebrate was a blessing to us all. She is still weak, but her spirit still radiates, and my Grandfather gave her a special toast during grace. A toast that included a new nickname. One that took us all by surprise and will never be forgotten: “big momma.”

Keep in mind my dear Grandma is no tall than 5’3″ and can’t weigh over 100lbs. But big momma she shall be called, because what Grandpa says, Grandpa goes. And gosh, he sure does love this woman.

The grandchildren stayed late to help clean up the house, and after all of the tables were cleared and the dishes were cleaned, the boyfriend and I traveled even further north to Sugarloaf. We spent the night playing board games with my cousins on the mountain, drinking wine and watching football. We woke up early and enjoyed our first ski day of the season!