I have fond memories of my mom’s annual Christmas party. The house always seemed to give off an extra warm glow that night, with candles in the windows, the tree looking extra magical, and Christmas music softly serenading us as we waited for guests to arrive. As people came in, I was in charge of helping make a huge pile of coats and purses on my sister’s bed so they’d be out of the way. Ladies in festive sweaters gabbed about who knows what, slowly drowning out the Christmas music with a cacophony of laughter. My mom was hard to find that night, as she was busy being the ultimate hostess with the mostess. After coat duty, I hid upstairs, but at some point in the evening I’d sneak downstairs to the party and make myself a plate of food. As everyone commented on how cute I was in my pajamas, I’d smile and politely tell them, “nice to see you, so nice to see you,” all the while making a beeline for the bacon stuffed tomatoes and mint brownies.