Some might say I grew up a little bit sheltered. I lived in a town of 500 people where everyone knew a little bit too much about you and your family's history.
But my life has sure changed since then, especially when it comes to holidays. Having Spanish in-laws has forced Chris and I to mould together Canadian and Spanish traditions and has sure opened my eyes wide to a new world of Canadian-Spanish holidays.
There's been a lot to adjust to: coming to terms with the fact that despite my punctuality Chris and my in-laws will always be late, that corn and rice are considered breakfast foods, and kissing everyone at family gatherings – even the men who refuse to shave their faces and the women who wear far too much lipstick.
But there's one holiday in particular that's taken a bit more adjusting to, and that's a Spanish Christmas.
As a child, we put out cookies and milk for Santa on Christmas Eve while we enjoyed After Eights, hot chocolate and falling asleep with butterflies in our stomachs. When we grew up, Christmas Eve was family game night with Bailey's, Turtles and we still went to bed with butterflies in our stomachs.
However, if you didn't know better you might think Christmas Eve in a Spanish home was New Year's Eve.
Instead of celebrating Christmas on the morning of Dec. 25, they celebrate it at midnight on Dec. 24. That means no cookies for Santa and no butterflies while you fall asleep.
In order to accommodate my Canadian traditions, Chris's family usually aims to eat around 9 p.m., which I've learned in Spanish time actually means midnight.
But before the meal there are no board games, no sitting by the fireplace and relaxing. Instead, there is utter and complete chaos.
There's salsa dancing in the living room, tequila shots all around. There's wine, laughing, strange Spanish food I've never seen and everything is in one volume: extra, extra loud.
From someone who grew up square dancing, salsa is a bit intimidating, so this is usually the time when I disappear to use the washroom or refill my drink – which unfortunately is not wine because we still have to drive to be at my parents' house when everyone wakes up Christmas morning.
They spend Christmas with the entire family: aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, you name it. Everyone gets together Christmas Eve, drinking, eating and opening gifts until the early hours of the morning.
To compromise, Chris and I usually leave between 2 and 3 a.m. to drive the two-and-a-half hours to my parents' place to sleep a couple hours before our Canadian Christmas morning with my family starts at 7 a.m.
Though I don't understand Spanish, hate tequila and can't salsa dance to save my life, I'd say adding a Spanish Christmas Eve to my holiday traditions has certainly been one of the most exciting adjustments we've made in finding a happy medium between my Canadian traditions and Chris's Ecuadorian ones.
But no matter how much I love him and no matter how many times he tries to persuade me, I'll never be convinced corn and rice are breakfast foods.
