Cavalierly, I emailed Leanne and suggested that if she would send me the recipe, we could make it “together” each in our own kitchen thousands of miles apart, and document the experience. Then I read the recipe which involved intimidating things like yeasted dough, and steps that had to be taken over more than one day, and I chickened out; but she followed through — and sent me pictures! I believe that technically, this is Leanne’s first blog post. Perhaps we are witnessing a food blogga in the making? Leanne, what say you?

And now, for your salivatory pleasure, I present The Amazing Kringle Adventure Featuring the Fabulous Leanne…

I’m a mom of 2 (a boy and a girl) who lives in Wisconsin, enjoys baking, and loves to read and write but seems to spend more time reading and writing for others (the children and work, respectively). Also I’m addicted to chocolate. Like the kringle recipe, I got that from my mom

I’ve been wanting to make kringle for a long time, but I was always put off by the recipe. Even my mom would note that it (along with other recipes that she would make and we kids loved) was “putzy.” Over time I’ve decided to embrace “putzy.” I’d like to share these baking traditions with my kids. I’m guessing my mom felt the same way.

The Recipe: Danish Kringle

Day One

Filling
12 oz. dates, pitted and chopped into pieces
2-3 tsp sugar

Place dates into a pot. Add just enough water to cover the dates. Add the sugar. Cook the dates until the water is nearly gone (about 30-45 minutes). Refrigerate the cooked dates overnight.

Dough
4 c. flour
2/3 tsp. salt
3 Tbsp. sugar
1 c. shortening

Combine flour, salt, and sugar. Cut in the shortening. Set aside.

Scald 1 c. of milk and cool to lukewarm.

Meanwhile, prepare a yeast mixture. In a measuring cup, measure 1 inch of hot water; add 2 packages of dry yeast and 1 tsp. sugar. Add the yeast mixture to the lukewarm milk.

Taking 4 eggs, separate the egg yolks and egg whites (save the egg whites in the fridge for the next day – my mom likes to divide the egg whites into 2 containers as she finds it easier to prep 2 kringle at a time, rather than 4 all at once). Add the egg yolks one at a time to the milk-yeast mixture.

Finally, add the milk-yeast-egg mixture to the flour-salt-sugar-shortening mixture. Chill the dough overnight.

Day Two

The next day divide the dough into 4 parts. Roll out the dough into a rectangle, about 9 inches by 15 inches.

Whip the egg whites til you get nice white peaks that are fairly stiff. Dab the eggs whites onto the dough, leaving room around the edges. Top with the cooked dates. Sprinkle with a little brown sugar.

Fold the dough into thirds, making the first fold smaller than the second fold. Seal the edges.

Let the dough rise for 2 hours.

Bake for 20-30 minutes at 375.

When the kringle has cooled, frost it. (my mom combines powdered sugar and milk to make her frosting – about that much powdered sugar and easy on the milk so that you don’t add too much and then need to add more powdered sugar. Been there, done that.)

The Execution:

Day One

What was I thinking?

Just start assembling the ingredients, Leanne. That’s not so hard. You can do this.

This will be like making cinnamon rolls.

But cinnamon rolls don’t take TWO DAYS.

This is crazy. Also, I’m hungry. I need a snack. Yes, I need a snack before I get started. Oh, and I’m supposed to be taking pictures to document this experiment

I’m not procrastinating. I’m documenting. And snacking.

So making the filling (at least the date part) wasn’t so bad. Dates, water, sugar. Cook. I can do that.

And even making the dough wasn’t so hard. Except for the glitch. The recipe calls for 1 cup of shortening. I had half a cup (why, oh, why didn’t I check before I started? It’s a nasty habit of mine – I have ingredient “X” so surely there is enough). So I substituted some butter. Please let that be okay.

I put everything into the fridge to wait for Day Two.

Day Two

Today is the day when I find out if this really was a crazy idea. Though I’m pretty sure I know the answer. Yes.

I pull out the dough and it’s quite sticky. Maybe too sticky. I work in some flour as I prepare to roll it out. I manage to roll out the 4 rectangles, but all the while thinking something isn’t quite right with the dough.

But it’s time to whip the egg whites. I have never whipped egg whites in my life. Ever. I just start giggling nervously as I turn on the mixer. I whip and whip and pretty soon they look good enough to me. They seem stiff.

I’m supposed to “dot” the egg whites on to the dough, but smearing seems like so much more fun. So I smear. And giggle some more. I do “dot” the date mixture – smearing the dates only further smears the egg whites and not in a good way. More giggles. It looks a bit goofy on the dough, but I just keep going.

Now I must fold the dough.

The dough is stuck. Too sticky stuck.

I try to massage the dough up with some flour. It sort of works, but by now I’m laughing hysterically. The dough is tearing. It doesn’t look pretty. I somehow manage to fold the dough into kringle-like form. But I must still get the forms onto the cookie sheet. The forms that are still pretty well stuck onto the table. I am so glad that no one is home to see what I have done.

After much more flour and laughing, the forms get transferred to the sheet where they will rest and then bake. I think I should have used two sheets instead as they are awfully cozy on the one sheet.

After two hours of resting and rising, they are beginning to become one kringle.

I bake the 4-in-1 kringle.

It smells heavenly, reminding me of when my mom used to make kringle.

Once the kringle is out of the oven and has cooled some, I frost it while my 5 year-old son, who is now home from school, hovers. He can’t wait to have a piece for snack. Though I do warn him that I will try it first to see if it tastes okay.

And it tastes pretty good. Not quite like mom’s (it’s the dough that seems most off), but not bad for my first attempt. Though I learn it tastes even better when it’s completely cooled. My son asks for more and I feel pleased.

The first kringle is nearly gone, and three more wait in the freezer. When they are gone, I’ll try again.

Not feeling verbose lately. Preschool transition is hard on both of us, it turns out.

But… There is a guest post coming to this space soon, so keep your eyes peeled!

And then I hope to catch up on all the drama, and resolution, shortly.

My hope is that some other parent who is out there googling cirque with toddler or ovo take my 2-year-old? will come across this post and get half price tickets and some courage.

There wasn’t much info for me on the internet when we were trying to decide. Could a young 2-year-old sit through a two hour show with a half hour intermission? Would the darkness, the stage lights, the loud music, the smoke machines, scare him?

This is what I knew: Ovo is a show about bugs, starring a Ladybug and an Egg. A LADYBUG. And a GIANT EGG.

Come on, people. How could we not give it a try?

As previously mentioned in this space, we took the least possible financial risk, scoring half-price tickets from Goldstar for a matinee show in the cheapest section. We considered pretending Jonah was under 2, and thus taking him for free, but in retrospect, we were glad we’d gotten three tickets; him having his own seat was worth the extra dough.

Our seats were in the last row of the far corner of the circus tent. An usher gave us the most wonderful booster attachment that raised Jonah to the perfect viewing height. Possibly the best part about our seats is that we were right next to the cucarracha-costume-clad orchestra, which featured a bebopping bouncy violin player. VIOLIN PLAYER! Yes.

Jonah sat utterly and completely still the entire first hour, hands in his lap, eyes traveling from the action on the stage, to the musicians, and back. Personally, I thought the costumes could have been more bug-like, but Jonah had no problem identifying the ladybug. Some others, he’d ask and we’d guess. They’re rather avant-garde.

There was a giant furry flower hanging from the ceiling that Jonah decided was a lion and no amount of argument from us would convince him otherwise.

Occasionally he would ask where the ladybug or the egg went, when those items/creatures were not onstage.

At intermission, we asked him if he wanted to go home or stay. Definitely stay. He was, again, remarkably still and rapt through the entire second half. I wondered what all the contortioning and flying around and high wiring and trampoline bouncing seemed like to him. He doesn’t have the context to know that these are unusual behaviors for human bodies, does he? Didn’t matter. He liked it.

With about 15 minutes to go in the second half, he started to get squirmy, crawling around on me, on the chair. Turned out what he really wanted to do was bum rush the stage and GET AT THAT LADYBUG, which I discovered as soon as he got himself down the stairs — we were trying to leave during the finale, figuring his patience had gone thin. He slithered out of my grasp and took off; but I caught him around the waist, his arms and legs pinwheeling “Laydeeeee BUGGG!!!” he cried.

The actors gave their bows and exited the stage. Jonah was desolate. Where did she go? Would she be coming back? “We should see the show again!” he declared.

Do you know the way to San Jose?

We bought the book on the way out, definitely a worthwhile purchase. He LOVES paging through it and talking about how the grasshoppers bounced off the wall. It’s nice for us to know now that those yellow/red people were fleas, and anybody with fur on their legs was a spider.

I’d consider going again. It might be fun to get seats a little closer to the stage and more towards the center. The costumes were much more exciting close up. The back row may have helped it be a less overwhelming experience for Jonah though. A pole did obstruct our view slightly through a couple of acts but nothing too terrible. I personally could have completely done without the (seemingly obligatory — this is my fourth Cirque show) overlong clowning segment with audience participation in the late-middle of the show.

Otherwise, two enthusiastic toddler and parent thumbs up!

He wasn’t buying the hey-come-read-a-book thing today so we had to do it more forcefully, uncurling him, still crying as he was being carried to the reading nook. I stood at the front door, listening to what seemed like a subsiding protest, and then I left.

I posted about my insecurities on Facebook today and received the most amazing support and advice from friends. I do believe the things they told me, that this type of behavior is normal, that he’s just finally realizing that preschool isn’t going to go away, that he’s really going to benefit from the social interaction and the independence, that his crying is even part of the separation — letting me know I am still needed. And that Scott and I are great parents and he’s an amazing kid.

But man, this still sucks.

I was consoled by the fact also that on previous days he’d been difficult to dislodge when I’d arrived to pick him up. But I did the math today and realized that was only the case on days when I was picking him up earlier, either between art class and lunch, or between lunch and nap. Picking him up at 3:00 has been different. He’s in a funk post-nap. I finally saw the chart today and he’s been falling asleep at around 1:20 or 1:30 which means when they wake him, sometime before 3, to put away his mat, put on his coat and boots, he hasn’t gotten a full two-hours which — when he naps — is his norm. This could be contributing to the subdued-to-weepy demeanor I’m witnessing.

Or it could be the rain. Because that first day, when 3pm meant he was in the yard with other kids, he’d been fine and had wanted to stay and have his snack with the group.

But the other thing, and this is part of what is so tough, is that tonight at bedtime, he kinda freaked out.

After the usual books, potty, songs, crib, he didn’t want me to leave the room. “I’ll be in the hallway” he usually says, giving me my line, which I say back to him. Tonight it was all manner of protest “No hallway! One more song! Want a snuggle. Mommy stay in the room. Bring the chair in the room.” I said no, that I would be in the hallway, that it was time for bed. I bent over the crib for a kiss and a hug and left. He started crying hysterically and screaming. This hasn’t happened in MONTHS. Scott and I were momentarily stumped.

The whole fear of caving in to tantrums had me stuck in the hallway for a few minutes. Then I went back into the room and had another talk with Jonah. I told him I’d heard him crying, that I was just in the next room, that I loved him no matter what, no matter where I am. He made it clear that he was not happy with me for leaving, and that he wasn’t terribly impressed that I could hear him cry and NOT come to his aid.

I said, “Daddy and I are going to stand in the doorway for a minute and talk, okay?”

He assented.

We the parents looked at each other quizzically. Then inspiration. “Jonah, I am going to sit in a chair in the doorway, okay? Right where you can see me.”

Again, he assented. This was basically us taking a step/scooch backward from when we’d done the sleep-consultant prescribed training technique. Scott and I both sat in chairs outside of Jonah’s door and meditated there together. We could hear him whisper-chatting to himself. After meditation, I grabbed the new book I’d picked up for myself from the library and even after I was pretty sure he’d fallen asleep, I stayed put for a while. There was something soothing to me about sitting in that chair and reading.

I want him to love preschool. I think I’m still afraid I may not have chosen the right place, and on some level he’s keying into that insecurity, reacting by not feeling settled, and using it to his advantage in his overall protest against being without me for any portion of the day. I am also pretty sure he’s having a good time there when he gets over my exit, and that he’d withhold that information if it meant making me feel guilty.

Sure, these are complex psychological manipulations that I am attributing to a 2-year-old. I’m just being silly, overthinking, the usual stuff. Or am I? (Duh duh duh…..)

Today, after school, I asked him what I’ve been asking every day, “So, what did you do today at preschool?”

He smiled and said/asked, “Anything?” — perfectly mimicking the hopeful/fearful tone and word that I usually say next when he doesn’t respond.

And then he did what he has done several pick-ups running. He only reported on the remark-worthy details of my arrival at the end of the day.

“Mommy brought you a sippy cup with juice in it.”

Ah well. Some things I guess I’ll never get to know.

His teacher Wendy plays them while singing songs during circle time. Which makes them extra cool.

We were the first to arrive that morning, so it also helped that I waited until the second kid made an entrance before making my exit.

When I returned to pick him up at 3pm, he was in the playground, apparently just at that moment checking to see if I was in the Pirate Ship play structure. Or having a Pavlovian response to hearing the lock giggle in the side gate. (I infer these things because he and the teacher made a beeline for me as I walked in, chatting about me, the gate, and the Pirate Ship.)

The afternoon teacher informed me that he did indeed nap. I have yet to check the log book to see how long said nap was but any sleep procured by anyone, especially in a new environment like that, is definitely a gold-star achievement.

The longer-day kids were all having snack at the picnic table in the yard, so we stayed for a while and he picked at the leftovers in his bento box.

* * *

Friday to Tuesday seemed like it would be an eternity to me. Why was I only doing three days a week again? All that work adjusting and…

But by this morning I think we were all ready for him to go back.

Almost all of us anyway.

In the car, on the drive over, Jonah informed me that in fact he does NOT like preschool.

“No preschool. No FRIENDS in preschool. Chandelle is NOT there. Chandelle is NOT nice. You want MOMMY to go to preschool WITHYOU.”

When we arrived, as I was getting him out of his carseat, he tried playing his last card, “How about let’s go to YOGA CLASS?” (In the past, his car monologue on the way to mom-toddler yoga class has been “NO YOGA” in repetition, whining tone, ad nauseum, so you know he was really trying to get out of preschool if that was his alternate suggestion.)

He protested again at the bottom of the stairs. “NO PRESCHOOL.”

“How about we just go up the stairs?” I asked.

At the top, I opened the door for him, “You go inside, I’m just going to put your lunch in your cubby and then I will come in.”

And he trotted right through the door like it was nothing at all.

We were the second ones there (I don’t know what’s up with other parents; if we’re paying for 8:30 to 3, we’re getting there at 8:30). I came in and stood in the coat nook, chatting with Chandelle while Jonah and Alexander (an amazingly gentle and outgoing kid who has been super friendly to Jonah since our very first visit back in December, showing him the ropes) played with play doh.

And then Jonah asked for the bells again I helped him set them up in a row, and then gathered my things. He began to play.

“Okay Jonah, Mommy’s leaving. Say ‘Bye-bye.’”

“Bye, Bye,” he said, without looking up or pausing. I gave him a kiss, a thumbs up to Chandelle, and exited.

Rice cakes were a dud. Sandwich was not as popular as expected. Cucumber was much more popular than could possibly have been anticipated. Dates and cheese were demolished — not surprising. All in all, I think we did good.

What will I pack tomorrow? Need to get to the store. Good thing he likes the dates as that’s the only fruit I have in the fridge at the moment.

I was actually nervous when I went to pick him up this afternoon. Why? No news was good news, as far as I knew, and that did indeed turn out to be the case.

He was happily playing in the playground when I arrived and it was satisfyingly difficult to get him to leave. His teacher reported that he didn’t cry at all. In fact, he did great! There was a new art piece in his cubby for us to take home — a melange of yellow dinosaur stampings in three clusters on a plain white background.

Photographed him on the way out, beside the waterspouts — he loves to stop and remark upon them and how the itsy bitsy spider goes up and gets washed down — and the duck spigot.

Here’s what the toddler house looks like, from the front (to go with the interior and yard photos I posted yesterday):

And here is Jonah, dressed for battle (note lunchbox briefcase which he insisted on carrying up the stairs and was still gripping mightily when I left him, about one hour ago):

And here is what I packed inside his lunch box (the special bento box the school provides/sells to all parents to make the teachers’ lives easier — they only have to open one lid per child):

(Turkey and gouda sandwich with arugula; cucumbers, tomatoes, and raita; rice cakes; cubed Dubliner cheese and dates. Will post after-photo later to document what actually gets eaten.)

On the drive over, Jonah was melancholy. He said, “Want to go to a DIFFERENT preschool. NOT the one with all the KIDS. Mo-mmeee was NOT in the house,” (he is reminding me of that first visit when I’d left and he’d forgotten about me until later and became upset/incensed/hysterical at not being able to find me).

Earlier this morning, he’d tried suggesting alternatives. “Want to go to the ZOO… Want to STAY HOME with MOMmy and DAaaddy.”

Once at school, he was happy at first to see the little duck spigot on the hose outside, he climbed the stairs without any struggle, but he started digging in his proverbial heels as soon as we got to the back door. No, he would not like to put his lunch in his cubby. He resisted crossing the threshold, muttering, “No, mommy will NOT go for a WALK.” (He has learned from last week’s visits that that is what I say when I leave.)

Eventually I was able to get him into the coat area, take off his boots and jacket, though still could not wrestle the lunch bag out of his hand. We sat and talked and snuggled for a bit. I explained that I had to leave to do work, and he would be doing work here, playing with play-doh and having snacks and circle time and singing and reading books, and that I would pick him up after lunch.”Mommy carry YOU around,” he said. I picked him up and held him, but did not start walking around. One tear rolled down his cheek.

Reading books — that was how we’d decided we’d handle the transition. Chandelle took her cue. I handed Jonah to her as she was explaining that they would go read If you give a Moose a Muffin, a brilliant intuitive choice on her part as she could not have known how very much Jonah likes Moose, and Muffins, and that we have a different book in the series, If You Give a Cat a Cupcake at home.

I worried that I hadn’t really said good-bye, that he might get upset again when he realizes I’m not in the house. But Wendy assured me as I was leaving that he is a kid who is relatively easy to console.

As I was walking out the back door, I could see them in the next room, the teacher and Jonah sitting on the little couch together in the reading nook, with three other children gathering around at their feet to listen.

Yesterday was Day 3. We arrived at 8:45 a.m., the first ones there, which isn’t entirely surprising because only three kids (including Jonah) attend on Fridays. Can you say PERSONALIZED attention. Yeah baby.

Jonah did. not. want. me. to. leave. period. By now he’d learned the drill. Preschool was all well and good but it would be better if MOMMY STAYED. Why did I keep having to “go for a walk?” Poor kid.

On Transition Day Zero — back in mid-December, I’d hung out the whole hour-and-a-half, nearby but not interacting, except for when the music teacher came in. That’s a parent-participation activity if desired. Some parents come to school just for that hour.

Transition Day 1, on Tuesday of this week, I hung out, again, sidelines, for a good chunk of time, and then I “went for a walk” for half an hour. It probably should have been shorter. The official policy book says it should have been 15 minutes. But the teacher said half-an-hour, and he was having fun, so I thought it would be fine. He barely responded when I said goodbye.

When I returned, I found him standing in the playground, holding hands with a teacher I hadn’t met, who turned out to be perfectly nice, but still, and crying that hiccup-y hysterical cry. Where the hell was I? He wanted to know.

I scooped him up and cuddled him as we sat on a bench. Two little girls pedaled over (on a tricycle built for two) and tried to console him or at least say hello. He hiccuped out the story to me of how “Mommy wasn’t in the house,” and that made him sad and, “the teacher gave you a snuggle.”

“Was that nice?” I asked him.

“Yeah,” he admits, begrudgingly.

Once he’d calmed down, I talked to his teachers and learned that a) He’d cried first just before outdoor time because at that point he’d realized I wasn’t there; but b) The good news is that he was easy to console; and then c) The transition to outdoors was too much for him (all that space, all those kids from the other classroom) and the other teacher had seen him crying again; but d) that had happened only scant minutes before I’d returned. So he didn’t suffer long.

Again consoled, he returned to the playground, and picked up a plastic turtle, and then a group of older boys (can I just say that based on what I witnessed this one day in the yard, I am a little terrified of 4- and 5-year-old boys) tried to claim it was theirs and take it from him, but one of the teachers intervened on Jonah’s behalf. The SECOND that Jonah put that turtle down, one of the boys appeared from out of nowhere and snatched it away. Jonah was fine with that though because by then he’d gotten involved with the sandbox, where another younger boy and girl both joined.

Next thing I know, he’s crying again. Someone threw sand in his eyes. Or rather, all over him, eyes included. The teacher intervenes, assumes it’s the boy. No, no, he shakes his head, pointing (j’accuse!) at the girl in pigtails who confesses. An apology is cajoled out of her and she helps the teacher brush the sand off of Jonah, who is again fine and makes his way over to the pirate ship play structure for the remainder of our short visit.

On Transition Day 2, we arrive, we hang out, I again announce my intentions to go on a walk. Jonah is NOT PLEASED. Much protesting ensues. He cries. HARD. I leave anyway, hovering outside the door a moment, listening for the crying to stop. I can’t quite tell but eventually I go sit on the front porch anyway, clutching my cell phone. The school director arrives while I’m sitting there, walks up and gives me a big hug. “I know, this is hard. She says. It’s not natural to be separated from your child like this. Why do you think I started this school?” I do the math in my head, having met her adult daughter. I tell her if she has an assistant teacher position opening, I’d like to be considered. “This will be good for both of you,” she says. I’m sure she’s right but I also don’t love this process.

She goes inside to check and comes back out, gives me the all-clear. He’s fine. I return about 30 minutes later and he’s… I can’t remember. How did that visit end? I think he was happy to leave with me.

Transition Day 3: Fridays are not only the day that there are almost no kids in the toddler class, but it’s also the day they get to go up to the ART STUDIO. I have a good feeling about this. But Jonah is now savvy to the whole mommy leaving thing and he’s super clingy, fights HARD to get me to stay. I hang out a bit and the teacher and I, through a series of nods and other hand signals over Jonah’s head, work out a switch while I am sitting in the nook with him, reading books. She takes over the book we’re on and I head out. It seems like it’s going to work but just as I shut the back door, he looks up and sees me through the window and starts crying. I hate this. I wave goodbye and head down the street to a cafe for the next hour, watching my phone and waiting.

I go back at 10:40, just a few minutes before the art studio time is over. His teacher is in the classroom, cleaning up (studio is overseen by a different teacher). She tells me he’d settled down quickly after I left, and that he’s had an absolute ball in art class, playing with paint, glitter, and clay, though she couldn’t convince him to put a smock on — with apologies. (No big deal, I’m just glad to hear he’s happy.)

Five minutes later, he appears, pretty much covered in glitter, paint, clay residue, and so happy he barely acknowledges me, almost pushing me out of the way to look at the aquarium with his new friends, Arcadia and Schuyler.

I have to pry him out of preschool. “Unt (translation: I want) to DRIVE the CAR,” he says, meaning the red plastic ride-in car on the playground.

Next week, I tell him. Next week you get to come back to preschool and drive the car.

* * *

Here’s what preschool looks like:

Shouldmommeee getoutta bed. Should maaah-ah-mmee go reada book in yourroom.

They’re not questions. They’re statements of strong persuasion. Like a mafia boss. Like if I know what is good for me, I will…

This morning, Jonah added a new colloquialism to his repertoire. Imitating Scott and I when we “voice” the thoughts of our pet(s), joking about our neighbor cat who is in the house (talk about powers of persuasion) trying to mooch food, Jonah said, “Molly’s like, ‘Hey, can I have a bite of your popsicle?”

And then, as we are sitting on the floor “having a pic-ah-nic” with a toasted blueberry English muffin, and Molly is incessantly poking her head in, trying to get a sniff to see if it’s mooch-worthy, Jonah says, “Molly is just saying, ‘Hey, can I have a bite of your blue-ber-ree Eng-uh-lish muff-fin?”

Lest you think I only feed Jonah treats for breakfast (at least the popsicle is homemade from frozen mango, banana and white grape juice) he also snacked on leftover poussin with me — from Scott’s fancy birthday lunch yesterday, wherein we got to meet chef-testant Jenn Biesty.

We also had preschool that morning (Transition, Day 3) played at the park that afternoon, and got a babysitter and went to see Avatar that evening. All in all, an excellent birthday day, if I may say so myself.

… a meme, found by Mayberry Mom at Swistle.

Eggnog or hot chocolate? Can they be combined into one uberbeverage of comfort and love? Must investigate this…

Does Santa wrap the presents or leave them open under the tree? Santa wrapped the one present we said was from him in the same exact wrapping paper that Jonah picked out at CVS. Imagine that!

Colored lights on a tree or white? White is so elegant. We do colored.

Hang mistletoe? Never have, probably never will, but have fond memories of the mistletoe at my first best friend’s house when I was a kid (Hi, Danelle!).

When do you put your decorations up? We bought the tree and the decorations on 12/23. The decorations were half-price. If we’d waited one more day, the tree would’ve been free.

What is your favorite holiday dish? Latkes, of course. But if we’re talking Christmas, it might just end up being fried sweetbreads and risotto.

Do you open a gift on Christmas Eve? We didn’t, but we probably will next year.

How do you decorate your Christmas tree? The more colors, the more types of ornaments, the better. Even stuff from around the house, key chains, etc.

Snow: Love it or hate it? Like it, but in our lives it’s mostly theoretical.

Can you ice skate? If by “ice skate” you mean “remain upright and locomote forward while wearing ugly, rented boots with dull blades attached” then the answer is Yes! (Answer stolen 100% from Mayberry Mom.)

What is your favorite holiday dessert? Croque En Buche — had it at Dad’s office’s holiday parties as a kid. Now that I’ve typed it here, I may have to try and make it?

What is your favorite holiday tradition? Making up our own.

Candy canes: Yum or yuck? Yuck.

Favorite Christmas show? Elf. (Although I should also add “Wrapping Paper Caper” since I performed in it and helped create it during its first season in 2000.)

And you?