Children have never been more self-correcting as they've been these past few weeks: "Whoops. I mean, 'Neve, will you please stop touching me? Thank you, sister.'", as they envision Santa with his all-knowing snow globe and check list.
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Terry has been a little prickly lately. (Imagine emails sent to church staff, in regards to him doing design work for the annual Christmas program, with phrases like "shi**ing this stuff out" and "I hope you're blessed with 100 snotty children" sprinkled throughout the exchange... among other delightful 'tis-the-season-to-say-something-you'll-regret-later ditties.)
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The weather outside has been quite frightful. Unfortunately, during school hours, this translates as 10 3 year olds afflicted with serious cases of confirmed cabin fever. The flip side to this, however, is that going home to a fire that's so delightful is even more delightful than ever before. (Working has made home the ultimate retreat once more.)
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Family is coming in from out of town this week too. I can't wait to see my brother and cousins! This will yield lots and lots of laughs (hopefully no tears) and food. Much food.
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I listen to this song 73 times a day:
While it all began as a Dera-guilty-holiday-pleasure, it has soon become a Fiona-and-Neve-shamelessly-play-it-over-and-over-pleasure. While your child is reenacting the nativity in a church play, my children are putting on "shows" in their bedroom with this song as a soundtrack, with Fiona playing the part of George Michael jumping on the bed. Luckily, this has cured any remaining Wham! inclinations I once had.
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I can't say for sure, but I have a hunch that there will be little to no blogging before the new year, so I will wish you all a Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah and such. Love to my peeps.
