christmas with a family of 12
weekly dispatch #6 ✶ the joy (and chaos) of holidays with eleven siblings
Heads up, I’m taking a brief break from the regular Weekly Dispatch update until after the holidays! The following is an update to a post I shared last year, detailing what it was like to have holidays growing up with a family of twelve. Thanks for reading <3
When I tell people I grew up in a big homeschooling family on a farm in Oklahoma, I know the exact image that comes to mind. Big Catholic family, all blue-eyed and wearing overalls. Quaint, and slightly creepy.
“Eleven siblings?! Your poor mother!” They all say, imagining the horror of pushing out that many kids.
It’s always crucial to quickly clarify that half of my siblings are adopted—though it should go without saying that giving birth a mere five times is no unremarkable feat. Props to you, Mom.
You might be wondering, how in the hell did my parents end up with that many kids? Were they crazy people? Religious nuts?
The answer is…a little bit of both!
My parents were devoted Christians who believed in walking the walk, i.e., opening their home to children who needed a loving home. That belief, paired with my mother’s work with adoption agencies as an adoption advocate, resulted in seven adoptions through the years.
I dunk on Christians a lot, but when they actually, y’know, follow the teachings of Christ and stuff, it can be kinda good for the world! Who knew!
My oldest siblings are well into their forties, meaning they were close to full-on adults by the time I was born. By the time I was two, I was already an aunt, and at the ripe old age of 27, I am officially a great-aunt.
My mom had my twin sister and me at forty, and my oldest brother had his first child just two years later, much like the plot of what is arguably Steve Martin’s cinematic best: Father of the Bride 2.
Not quite the image that came to mind, was it?
For all the chaos that comes with having eleven siblings, there are aspects that are undeniably awesome.
Always having someone to play with when you’re bored? Amazing. Going to Chili’s after church and being a restaurant-wide spectacle? 10/10. “Intimate” family holidays being a 30-person event? Nothing better.
Truly, when I say there was no occasion more thrilling than a Babb family holiday, I mean it.
The thrill of all umpteen children gathered, nieces and nephews in tow, endless amounts of food, festive decor, and my mother’s expert hosting chops on full display was always unmatched.
On Easter, we had massive easter egg hunts, with home-dyed eggs hidden across the eight acres we lived on.
On the Fourth of July, my dad and brothers would stock up on a borderline illegal amount of explosives and blow the yard to smithereens. Our neighbors would set out lawn chairs and watch from a few houses over. A good year was always denoted by the cops showing up.
On Thanksgiving, the entire family, from grandparents to great-grandchildren, would play games like “Spoons” and “Wink Murder”. We’d gorge on turkey and pumpkin pie and end the day with what is arguably Steve Martin’s cinematic second best: Trains, Planes, and Automobiles.
But nothing—I mean nothing—could hold a candle to Christmas. It was the holiday to end all holidays.
Us youngest three kids would lie awake in our shared room, quivering with excitement as the clock ticked closer to 7:00 a.m., the agreed-upon "reasonable" hour for us to leave our rooms.
Silently, we'd sneak down to the living room, eagerly grabbing our stockings and tearing into the treasures inside, feasting on Hershey's Kisses and candy canes.
Eventually, our parents would emerge, brewing their tea and coffee, while our older brothers took charge of cooking the bacon and our sisters started flipping pancakes.
As the morning waned into the early afternoon, the older siblings who no longer lived at home would trickle in, and the entire household would dive into a gift-unwrapping frenzy.
Throughout the day, we’d nibble off pieces of our chocolate Santas, run around with the nieces and nephews, eat Mississippi Mud Pie, and take turns riding the horses up and down the pasture. It was as enjoyable as it sounds.
The last Christmas we had with my father was by far the most memorable.
Even before tragedy struck and memorialized it forever, I remember stopping to catch my breath during a game of hide-and-seek with my nephew and thinking, “Wow, now this is a Christmas.”
I was thirteen that year. My dad had been diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease a year or so earlier. He’d had his moments of fogginess, and his hand was shaking, but as far as I could tell, he was still his regular old self. Quiet, sweet, and silly, as usual.
That Christmas, he watched each of us open our gifts intently. He held each of his grandbabies. He smiled all morning.
A month later, he was dead.
I think all twelve of us would agree that no holiday has felt the same since. I mean, how could it? Our father, the sweet, central force that led our family, was gone; his absence the most present thing on our minds.
Our mother was forever changed—dimmed by grief, overburdened with taking care of six kids still under her roof, crushed by the reality that what should have been her golden years, spent next to the love of her life, would never come to be.
In the years since his death, our family has completely transformed, shapeshifted, regrouped, and reincarnated. Holidays are much quieter. The siblings with children tend to spend their Christmases in their own homes. My mom still decorates her tree and hosts one hell of a dinner, putting Martha Stewart to shame.
As my sisters and I have forged our own paths in Colorado and beyond over the past four years, we’ve started our own holiday traditions. Birthdays are celebrated with utmost reverence. Friendsgivings are held with no turkey in sight (not by design, but because none of us know how the hell to cook one.)
Last year was the third year in a row we held a Secret Santa gift exchange with our beloved friend-family. We wore red turtlenecks and fuzzy sweaters and made the Christmas treats we ate in middle school. We shared our love for one another through handmade gifts, silly picks, and many you-shouldn’t-have!’s.
It was wholesome and laughter-filled and always one of my favorite events of the year. It reminded me why we celebrate holidays in the first place, why we seek light in the depths of winter.
It brought up memories of days past, of a way-too-big family united, untouched by grief. Looking around at all the beautiful beings gathered in my sister’s living room, I couldn’t help but think, “Wow, now this is a Christmas.”
Whatever your holidays look like this year, I hope they’re full of nothing but warmth and spent with all the people you love most.
Talk to you soon!
— Jo
This is beautiful, Jonie, thank you! We have such similar family circumstances: growing up in big, loving, adoptive families with lots of beautiful holiday memories, then family tragedies that have forever reshaped our family and traditions — but they’re still lovely. I have a hard time knowing how to write about all that in my own work, and I so appreciate this exemplar of how to do it well. ❤️