Prayer should not be an ominous beginning to a festive family gathering, yet when my niece prayed for our evening together to be “full of peace and harmony,” she wasn’t kidding. Our third-annual family gingerbread house contest was underway, and we needed all the divine intervention we could get.
The rules were simple: Best house wins. Teams were divided into three groups: the men (husbands and sons), the cousins (children and grandchildren) and the women (sisters and Mom).
Now, if your family is anything like mine, you recognize this as a formula for a familial perfect storm. Men pitted against women, women against children. It’s just not right.
Each year, I suggest we mix up the groups a bit, but this clan clings to tradition. So game on, mister.
The evening was inspired by some friends who hosted a couples gingerbread contest. My husband Mike and I had so much fun that we decided to host one for my family as a way to bond.
Somehow, though, we underestimated the competitive spirit of our crew.
Who knew Mom could talk smack?
I’m not sure where we lost our way. I think it’s the men’s fault.
Yes, I’m certain of it. Just because the guys made their house into a clever fishing village the first year of the contest does not entitle them to bragging rights. If anything, they should be ashamed. They stole my favorite Santa ornament from our Christmas tree and had him fly-fishing from the roof. Such thievery!
Not that the cousins were any better. They swiped bells off my wreath for their “Jingle Jolly” music-themed house. Again, with the theft. I thought I raised my daughter better than that. Their house was pretty amazing, though. I think they won that year. The men beg to differ.
The following year, Mom and I splintered off from my sisters, a strategic move – or so I thought. No one votes against the family matriarch, right? Wrong. This crew made the Corleones look chummy. Everyone said our “Winter Wonderland” house was a sad little concoction of melted marshmallows. Hey, it’s called art, OK? Ever heard of Salvador Dali?
Geesh. Such amateurs.
This year was going to be the women’s year. I could feel it. My sister Cindy had collected decorating ideas for months. She bought imported gumdrops. Victory would be ours!
Then along came a new contestant, my niece Valori from Georgia. We were no match for her adorable “Strawberry Shortcake” house, complete with a strawberry patch made out of red candies.
However, she should have been disqualified. She used to teach elementary school. Teachers are supposed to be crafty.
The cousins won. Again.
I thought our “Night Before Christmas” house was precious, far better than the men’s sparse golf course-themed house that tied with ours for second place, but we were outvoted. We were this close to winning.
Oh well, in the words of Nick Saban, there’s always next year.

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