What is it about millennials and seared brussels sprouts? A vegetable my generation eschewed seems to be a favorite side dish for my children's generation. Heaps of the green nuggets are served up seared and sometimes doused in balsamic vinegar. They appear at almost every family gathering including Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthday parties, etc. Just recently, Jeff and I lunched at Plantation Lakes Golf Club in Millsboro, and the young and ebullient waiter's first recommendation was seared brussels sprouts. Also, my son Jordan and daughter-in-law Mary Alice served them halved and steaming at our pre-Christmas get-together dinner. It was very elegant with beef bourguignon.

A sporadic family tradition has been the presence of a Festivus Pole like the one the Costanza family on “Seinfeld” brandished for "the airing of the year's grievances,” hoping for a Festivus Miracle. Feats of strength notwithstanding, it is a cathartic event. It's really all in fun, yet there is always some truth in humorous kidding.

This year, my son Jordan had borrowed a pole from someone and it stood like a scrawny Christmas tree trunk festooned with strings of lights in the corner of the dining room. I am usually the recipient of the most grievances, having employed a rather unconventional brand of mothering, but they have all turned out well, with no one living in our basement. All have good jobs and significant others, and they have provided us with three grandsons and another on the way at the end of January.

Sterling, my other son, had written an essay as part of being considered for admittance to the University of Delaware. It was titled "My Mother is an Old Hippie." It was probably more humorous than most of the essays from other student applicants, but the registrar must have enjoyed it, because he was admitted under the early decision category, with twin brother Jordan soon following him. Jeff and I were even asked to be on the parents’ board, which included parties at President David Roselle's house and dinners at the former Blue and Gold Club.

However, when they were growing up, the twins had been quite a handful! I painted a mural of a cow jumping over the moon on the dark-blue wall of their bedroom. It was a cosmic-themed room with stars and planets everywhere. The carpet was an impractical shade of man-in-the-moon Swiss cheese yellow, which was later spotted up with sneaker prints, so it looked the part.

A baby shower gift of a delicate bisque ceramic moon with a star hanging from the curve of its crescent sat on a chest of drawers. Its shelf life while watching over two rambunctious boys, needless to say, was short-lived. Long, star-studded navy blue curtains shaded the windows. One day I entered this "boy cave" to find that the curtains had been cut off. The twins had shorn them in half, bagged up the pieces surreptitiously, and taken them to school for show and tell!

So you can see I have my own Festivus complaints to air at the holiday table. The mural was painted over when we prepared the house in New Castle County for sale, so the new owners could assert their own personalities, but it glows in my mind like remnants of the Lascaux Caves in France. Surely I am a descendant of the ancient Picts, who painted everything in sight, including themselves.

This year, we left before the Festivus festivities began. I remember sterilizing 36 bottles of formula every morning for these twin brothers, and I deserve a pass from Festivus this year. We had to travel back on a cold night from the suburbs of Wilmington to get home to my beloved Sussex County.

I am sure that the Festivus merriment continued over a serving dish with only a couple of brussels sprouts remaining after we departed for home, me with my ears burning all the way, but I have done my job. I will not be the last of my line, so my mission is complete. I am proud to have helped create such a family.