“I’m not doing a tree this year, maybe just a small dinner,” said my mother-in-law. There has been a passing in my husband’s family so Christmas this year will be more…solemn.

“Even though I love Christmas,” she added. My mother-in-law sat on her couch and stared straight ahead. That silence is something I can usually handle. But I never even met the person she is missing. I don’t understand what my mother-in-law is feeling. I’m the daughter-in-law, Greek by marriage, the one who usually comes over to my mother-in-law’s on Christmas and eats three plates of her food, keeps her grandkids from breaking the Lladros, and watches her do her own dishes, barking at anyone in Greek who slows her kitchen clean up assembly line down.

“I can have Christmas dinner at our house,” I said, I bluffed, I practically whispered.

“I’ll let you know,” she kindly replied. I really didn’t think m-i-l would go fo it. Christmas is always at her house and though it was being toned down, tradition is more comforting than anything, especially for Greeks. And Jews. Oh, and Catholics, Italians, Protestants, Mexicans…before this blog gets too long, let me just say…everyone.

The comfort factor is why I believed my mother-in-law would decide to host Christmas dinner at her house, even if she took her time deciding about it. My offer - not the limited time kind - was made two weeks ago.

“I hear you’re having Christmas dinner at your house!” said my sister-in-law Angie four days ago.

If you have ever seen Animal House, John Belushi says “HOLY ****!” very loud, and makes it a four-syllable expression when the horse dies*. I said this louder than John Belushi but still honored the syllable exaggeration.

My husband looked at me upon hearing we were indeed hosting dinner at our home, a you should know by now kind of look.

Truth is, I think it’s my time. Honestly, I talked my husband into buying me the five-burner gas grill four years ago with the “But I’ll be hosting the holidays sooner rather than later” argument. Selfishly, I want my home to smell like roasted turkey and homemade crackling cranberries in simple syrup for once.

I think it’s time for me to grow up.

I want to take the burden from my mother-in-law, it’s the least I can do. She just lost her own Mom.

I want to show my own Mom that aisde from table-setting - a task I absolutely dread like dental work - I can totally pull this thing off (without Xanax or Vanilla Stoli at 10 a.m.) I need to prove to myself that I retained something from my former career in Catering and Event Planning. Also, this forces me to de-clutter. I really need to de-clutter.

It’s like my worth is up for proving, geesus how the holidays have a way of widdling things down, building them up and then just plain exposing them for what they were and always have been, pre-tinsel.

And as usual, my proof comes in the form of a springform pan, cookie sheet, roasting dish and heavy pots.

I was just bluffing. I said so many things I didn’t mean. I said so many things that had meaning.

Now that I’ve been called on it, I better get cooking.

* Michelle K, that was to you. Del Mar Fair 1996.