We spent the evening at my in-laws, who love to host an enormous dinner for Christmas. The kids had no interest in putting away their puzzles and gerbils and putting on their fancy tights and clean diapers, and I really didn't want to shower. But you just don't say no. So we ate their prime rib, drank many bottles of their expensive wine, and I admit it: we laughed a lot. Because everyone was pretty damn happy. The rich people got a lot of rich-people presents, and the middle class people played it simple and didn't set themselves up for disappointment. We were all sitting around the table, my niece trying to decide which of her 3 iPods to listen to when she called her super-secret 15-year-old boyfriend later to not-talk with on the phone, my brother-in-law was trying to decide which new gun to shoot at his target practice range the next morning, and I was picturing myself sheathed in my new sheepskin slippers, watching ELf on VHS for 89th time that evening on our 11" TV. So you see? It was all good.
Hope yours were happy.
Fashion-forward or fashion-retarded - either way she's a Happy Birthday Gal.
Please quit touching me. Can a sleeply little rodent get a break or what?
Christmas Eve dinner. Ahhhh. Happy oil.
See? So very Dickensian, my old slippers.
And the Montana wagon, complete with studded tires and a de-icer on the handle.