I really didn't mean that last post to sound as terribly grouchy as it seemed. It's a lovely, sunny winter day, if you happen to like 27-below windchills. Genevieve and I brought Julia to nursery school and Daddy to work, then nixed any further errands for coming home to play with blocks and watch Sesame Street. The house still smells like fudge. I have a festive, sweets-heavy holiday party to attend (and co-host) this evening. I don't have to run tonight, which is a good thing, because: remember? 27-below windchill? I'm busy making a list of all the many things I'd like to buy for myself during the after-Christmas sales (more stylish handbag; smaller jeans; one dressy blouse; a sweater that could be described as "nice"; basic black heels; ice skates so I can teach Julia to skate this winter), even though I probably won't (no money. not kidding. well, maybe the skates.). We have toddler tumbling class tomorrow, which is loads of fun. And our house is awash with constant Christmas carols. (How cute was it that, yesterday afternoon at the Sunday-School Christmas program at the Lutheran church of our dear friends, when the congregation sang "Joy to the World" at the very end, Julia actually correctly sang along, even to the last verse with the words that are hard to remember? She really did. My favorite carol, by the way.)
Christmas is almost here! How are you surviving this final week of waiting? Are you hiding from the windchills, like I am? Are you wrapping modest gifts, and keeping one eye on the economy? Are you listening to "Joy to the World," and considering all the joy of the season? I hope so. Whatever else you're up to this week, drink some cocoa, eat some fudge, and hang those stockings.