I submitted this article a week early and my editor reminded me it was Julaine’s turn. I love to say I have an editor. I think that’s what he is. So be nice and pretend this is for the Sunday before Christmas…

I didn’t know what to write about this month so I exhumed saved stories and decided to write about presidential funerals. But then I re-decided to write about my upcoming Christmas in Chicago but didn’t want to start until I got there because there are many things to write about, and I could also pass time on the two hour flight. Doctor even splurged on a first class ticket and I see a Mimosa or a Bloody Mary in my future, which is tomorrow morning. I’ll go for the Mimosa because the airline’s Bloody Mary Mix isn’t Zing Zang. Just a little tip. As for today, Tuesday, Jacques and Courtney will pick me up for an overnight in New Orleans and dinner at Italian Barrel which will officially start our happy holiday. My children love a holiday and we do it up as best as we can, such as spending it in Chicago which includes lots of snow and baking and cooking and sipping on homemade eggnog and milk punch by the fire. When Eve was just a toddler I vowed to take her to RL, Ralph Lauren’s beautifully cozy and see-and-be-seen celebrity-style-restaurant for a lunch of all sorts of things but especially champagne and Shirley Temples and truffle fries, and that too is on our schedule. We’re leaving crazy George behind on this one.

While I’m gone Doctor will host Christmas Eve morning and evening with his family, and as for me, I didn’t want to be rushed or worried about anything so I set the tables about three weeks ago, ran all errands including about twenty-three visits to Hobby Lobby, decorated the tree, wrapped presents, prepared provisions and froze them for their Christmas Eve breakfast and dinner that evening which consisted of three biscuit souffles, fifty-four sausage and cheese balls, and a French toast casserole. I then prepared my Mama’s famous macaroni and cheese sauce, a baked potato casserole, a double batch of Neiman Marcus dip and Alice Morrow’s Big Chill peanut butter balls, fifty-eight to be exact. The Belanger family likes to count. Then for some wacky reason I purged the house which turned into many visits to Arc and my car sounding like Mr. Haney’s truck. I vacuumed drawers, baseboards and shoe moldings, washed five sets of sheets for guests, polished silver, decorated tables, cleaned four freezers and two refrigerators, reorganized my pantry, ironed, then turned my bar into a pop-up bar which is the latest trend. A girl’s gotta keep up, but now I don’t want to dismantle it. The only problem is I won’t let anyone open the cabinets because they might knock down my garland and jingle bell wreaths. It’s like a booby trap back there. I crossed out everything on my list and was ready to go. We’ve been planning this trip since last Christmas.

The next evening Jose’ and I were invited to dinner at a friend’s home in Lafayette. On our way back I checked my phone and had a missed call from Emily, and she was sobbing. I could hardly understand a word she said but I did understand this. “I tested positive for Covid.” I struggled to comfort her, and me, but couldn’t come up with anything. I just kept saying what every other mother says, “It’s gonna be okay.” The next day Emily and her family waited in a car line for hours to be retested. Everyone was positive.

We canceled our hotel reservations and dinner in New Orleans, canceled our flight and the thought of my mimosa, and canceled our reservations in Chicago. We’re all so disappointed.

Instead of sipping champagne at RL I’ll be in the kitchen for the Mata’s Christmas Eve brunch and the Christmas Eve dinner that evening, cleaning the house, washing dishes, resetting the tables for my family’s Christmas dinner the next evening, cleaning the house and washing dishes again, then taking Christmas down, except for my pop-up bar. The most disappointing part of all is that I planned on wrapping up those pajamas George had a meltdown over and kicked across the entire length of my kitchen on his birthday because he was expecting something with wheels. I couldn’t wait to see his reaction that the pajamas were back in his life when he opened the box. We were hoping for another field goal across the room just one more time. Maybe next year!

PHYLLIS BELANGER MATA was born at the old Dauterive Hospital and grew up on Wayne Street. She is a 1974 graduate of Mt. Carmel Academy and is a chili dog “without the wiener” aficionado.