So the stockings were
hung draped on the couch, and the children were nestled all snug in their beds arguing over the bathroom and basically all was good.
In addition to amazing food, random silliness, and the hardest crossword puzzle in the history of words written by Child A, there were a few highlights of the present variety.
A conspiracy that was aided and abetted by Nichole from In These Small Moments, resulted in Himself getting this:
Inside the box was an umbrella made to look like a ninja sword.
Which I think will work nicely for…ummm…some things. That I need to do. At night. In the dark.
It’s better if you don’t ask questions.
What did Himself put under the tree for me?
Is it wrong to sleep with a camera lens under your pillow? Because I’m seriously considering it.
And about how I can’t count…
Christmas brunch was at our house this morning, the first time in many years that my mom has not hosted both the Christmas Eve and Christmas morning gatherings.
I decided to make eggs benedict, as I have an egg-poaching shortcut.
However, when standing in the supermarket last weekend counting guests and serving in my head, I did the following math:
Five of us, mom and G, my brother and his wife, and Child A’s dad that’s 10. So that’s twenty eggs, twenty slices of Canadian bacon, and twenty English muffins.
Twenty English muffins? Doesn’t ONE English muffin constitute a serving of eggs benedict?
Why yes, yes it does. But my head didn’t do the correct calculation until this morning when I pulled out four packages of English muffins and started splitting them to toast.
I looked at the mountain of muffins, starting re-doing the math in my head and then announced to my family that I am an idiot who can’t count.
I was not corrected by ANYONE.
So since apparently I cannot count to TEN, I believe I should forever more be exempted from paying bills, calculating insurance co-pays or refilling my car with gas.
Santa can arrange that for me, can’t he?
I knew he could!
Hope your holiday was just as lovely! Merry Christmas!