Popovers and orange cake look likely at this point, but I have the crab legs thawing in the fridge just in case. Poor us.
I got that wreath I was after thanks to my parents:
End result: We're not total scrooges this year. :)
One of my sponsored children (the Romanian) sent me this lovely greeting:
I found a post (on a food blog of all things) about the awkwardness of celebrating Christmas without children. I don't agree with the idea that we don't have to celebrate the Nativity of Christ, but I'll admit that that's because I'm Orthodox and think differently than other Christians. No, I'll not be celebrating Christmas because I want to throw up (yay). But I agree with the sentiment that you wonder, "Who am I dressing the house up for?" I've just decided that the answer is me. And my husband. Next year. I'll even put the tree by the intake vent in the hopes of spreading the smell of Christmas throughout the house. :)
Unrelated to Christmas, I think I'm beginning to understand the biological clock. Clearly I'm almost 30. I sat upright in the middle of the night and told Chris I wanted a baby. Not my own--I have no interest in pregnancy. Don't think I'm terribly capable of it anyway. Anyway, I got the itch bad to foster babies who were born drug-dependent. It would be hard and there would be heartbreak, but it would be worth it. Then I went back to sleep and got over it. And I got a package of trendy clothes from Australia and began to fantasize about taking a trip over there (Chris would rather go to New Zealand, but they're close enough that I think it would work in one trip). So now I'm back to being the childless wife who would rather travel and write and not know how to decorate for Christmas. How long until that biological clock runs out of batteries? When's menopause?
Have a lovely Christmas, gentle readers. May it not be fraught with tummy bugs and existential crises.