A couple hours into tamale wrapping, two of my aunts arrived, threw on some aprons, and came to our rescue.

I could have cried because of the extra pairs of hands. This meant we would get done twice as fast, and I could maybe make it to Tori’s party before it was over.

I’d be back in time for opening presents at midnight. That was when the real fun began anyway. But I still had to do my hair and makeup before I could go, not to mention scrub the masa out of my fingernails.

And hair.

How had it gotten in my hair?

Another full two hours later, the first batch of the freshly wrapped tamales went into the aforementioned gigantic metal pot. The tamales would cook in it for a while before they cooled down and were then devoured by all of my relatives.

I took off my apron. My mom and both of my aunts, one older and one younger than her, cleaned the kitchen together. They looked like busy bees in a hive with so much work to do they couldn’t stop for one second.

My mom grabbed my apron as she whizzed by and put it away.

“I’m gonna go get ready so I can go to that party I told you about, okay?” I asked.

She nodded, hardly listening, and then laughed out loud with her sisters at something Tía Rosita had said.

I hung back, trying to figure out what was so funny.

“When I broke every single one of those dishes, I really thought Mamá was going to kill me,” Tía Rosita said in Spanish.

My mom wiped at her eyes. “The look on her face when she saw them. I thought she was going to explode.”

Tía Paula clutched at her abdomen in laughter.

Tía Rosita went on. “I just remember I must have been around eight or nine years old. The basket of dishes was so heavy and having to walk all the way to the river and then back. The basket slipped, just like that, and when they did, I ran. Not a single dish had been left intact.”

My mom leaned back on the counter. “I remember Papá looked for you for hours.”

Tía Rosita nodded. “I was afraid of Mamá, but he finally convinced me to climb down from the tree I was hiding in and come home. He assured me that he wouldn’t let Mamá punish me.”

Tía Paula smiled. “He always did have a soft spot for us girls, didn’t he?”

All three of them grew silent then, and I wondered if remembering also made them sad.

My grandfather, their father, had only died last year. I’d known him but not that well. He’d been really old and quiet the last time we’d visited him a couple years ago.

But he seemed like a caring dad, definitely the much-needed balance to my grandmother’s strict nature.

A question popped up into my mind, and I blurted it out. “But why were you coming back from the river?” I asked my aunt. “Why didn’t you just wash the dishes at home?”

She could have avoided a lot of trouble that way, I thought.

My mom answered. “Mija, that’s what was normal back then. We used the running water from the river to clean the dishes and then we’d take them back home. This was before we had running water at your grandparents’ house. Before you were born, we didn’t even have toilets that flushed. Just outhouses. It was a while before your aunts and uncles and I were able to make some fixes around the place.”

“Oh,” I said, wondering what it must have been like to grow up like that.

My Tía Rosita spoke up. “Things were a lot different back then, mija. Christmas was nothing like this, with all this food and all these presents. Sometimes we went hungry. There were so many of us and not enough work.”

“We made our own dolls, too, when we were little,” Tía Paula said. “Out of potatoes and sticks and rocks.”

“Having a couple pieces of candy around the holidays was a real treat,” my mom added. “But you know what? We still had a great time.”

I took a few steps closer. “I didn’t know your childhood had been like that,” I said. I glanced around at the large, pristine kitchen. We didn’t live in the nicest house in the neighborhood, but it was many times better than what my grandparents used to have in Mexico.

She nodded. “Why do you think we work so hard?” She pinched my cheek. “So all of you, the next generation, can have more than we did. More opportunities. A better life.”

My Tía Rosita went back to wiping the kitchen counter. “As long as you’re smart and you don’t waste it.”

I nodded then gave my mom a hug before finally setting off for my room.

I passed the living room, where a half dozen or so of my younger cousins hung out watching TV and trying to guess what their presents were.

When I reached my room, I closed the door and sat on my bed for a minute. I looked around at my closet full of clothes and shoes, my bed full of pillows, and the sheer amount of stuff that surrounded me.

I had to admit, I kind of felt like a jerk. My Scrooge-like attitude lately had been wrong.

Here I’d been whining and complaining endlessly about the chores I had to help out with when my own mom had grown up with none of the stuff I took for granted today.

All my mom had known throughout her childhood was cooking and cleaning, and I couldn’t handle helping out around the house for a few days around Christmastime.

As I changed for the party, I made a promise to myself.

No more Grinch-like behavior. This Christmas, I would appreciate my family, my friends, and everything we were lucky enough to have.