I come from a generously-sized family, the sort that prompted wide eyes and under-the-breath counting from strangers who glimpsed our brood at the library or grocery store. I'll spare you the counting and say that I have five brothers and two sisters, so eight of us, plus parents, and now assorted spouses and in-laws. Christmas is an all-day affair for us, with stockings and enough presents to necessitate an intermission about halfway through unwrapping. But as we've grown up and gotten married, things have shifted; last year we did Christmas in the evening, instead of in the morning, and every holiday now has a marked absence of a sibling (or two) celebrating with someone else's family.
But there is one inviolable tradition that still binds our Christmases together, and that is my mother's cinnamon rolls.