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My maternal grandmother is the matriarch of a family so large and diverse that she could rightly be compared to a crownless Queen Victoria.

Each Christmas, 11 handmade stockings adorned the mantel of her fireplace - each one uniquely embellished with sequins and glitter, bearing the name of a hopeful child.

The children were not always lucky. I once heard a rumor that they awoke one Christmas morning only to find actual coal in their stockings - a practical joke that greatly amused my grandfather.

The grandchildren were more fortunate. I am one of 26 grandchildren; two more are on the way. Despite the numbers, Grandma always welcomed us with hugs, kind words and, of course, treats: mint chocolate holiday M&Ms and Hershey's Kisses wrapped in shiny red and green foil.

Though our presents from Santa were exciting, Christmas in our grandparents' Victorian home was never about the gifts. It was about the spectacle.

One uncle would be amusing a group of grandchildren with his rendition of "Linus and Lucy" on the piano while other aunts and uncles were "oohing" and "aahing" at our childish attempt at a Christmas fashion show. We flaunted our new dresses with pride, each of us knowing for sure that our own flouncy be-ribboned plaid dress was far more beautiful than that of our cousins.

Later, games of hide-and-seek ensued, disturbing the adults as they chatted about work and family over coffee and cookies. Cue more piano music: This time, the musician was a five-year-old with no formal training.

Family holiday gatherings are often dreaded by many, and I certainly understand the reasons for their anxiety: Who knows if Uncle Bob is going to tell painful jokes, or if Aunt Sue will inform you that she has arranged a blind date for you because you "aren't getting any younger"?

But the chaos at my grandparents' house is what I relished and what I have come to cherish. It was noise. It was madness. It was a three-ring circus.

It was Christmas.

(12/23/10)[[In-content Ad]]

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