So this will probably be my last post for a few days--everybody'd too busy to read the blog anyway!
But before you all hustle off to your own holidays, be sure to look at the last entry, where I talk about posting the extras for Beneath the Stain. Or just go HERE, where you can get the extras for free!
Now before I go help Mate wrap the last of the presents, I'll give you a brief rundown of the family--and our version of a happy holiday:
Mate made eight batches of fudge of six different types--and I've boxed the majority of it up by now to send off, but I've got a picture of it here, and he's justifiably proud.
Chicken's grown friends have started asking for presents. I'm in the middle of my second "friend" scarf for her, and apparently there was a big demand for her father's fudge.
I packed a little box--very adorable and festive--but she flew through the door today on her way to a Christmas party, and her first stop was the Ziplock cupboard (which I had to get into because spiders which are no longer there.) She needed to fill a quart bag with fudge because there are apparently ravening hordes who will only be appeased with fudgey goodness.
Squish: Squish is generally a delight, and she's been poking under the tree curiously to see what presents are for her. This is a leftover from when she was very small, and she's usually so self-possessed. We adore her, of course, but today she did sort of shock us.
We were addressing Christmas cards and I looked at one label in surprise.
"Aunt Amelia? Is she still, uhm, alive?"
Both the kids asked, "Who's Aunt Amelia?"
"My grandmother's older sister. I, uh... lessee... Grandma died five years ago at 92 so that would make her...I have no idea."
"Well," Squish said, frowning, "How long can she live? I mean, what's the max?"
And that right there was when my brain blew up.
I"m going to be wondering "what's the max?" for the rest of my life.
ZoomBoy and I had a fight over Google Play tonight as we endeavored to listen to Christmas carols that didn't drive anybody crazy, and he kept randomly asking for Queen. I swear, it was like he was possessed by Crowley's car. (Good Omen's reference there-- it's coming!)
Big T read the Christmas letter and said, "You know, this is really good. Did you have a friend or an editor or someone help you with this?"
In other news, he's been disowned and may be looking for a family of his own. If anybody wants a really large 26 year old son, feel free to claim him. He seems like a good kid, but he can apparently rip your heart out with no notice at all.
And now, off to wrap presents.
May your family delight you, surprise you, shock you, turn to you, and, occasionally, take you for granted until given a pointed reminder of how truly awesome you are.
May your Solstice/Christmas/Yule be Merry and Bright.