It is the time of year to make a Christmas plan. So I did yesterday, although I used my pretty green weekly calendar book instead of the Sacred Yellow Notepad. (My mother always used a yellow notepad.)
The final plan astonished me with its blankness. We're not doing a Christmas play this year. Not organizing a Christmas party for any group (well, DOB is at work, but that involves me little). No plane tickets (alas) to visit elsewhere, requiring all other activities to be scooched up. So far in our married lives, we've had the Christmas of the Morning Sickness. (Actually I was feeling much better at that point. I only threw up every other day.) Then there was the Christmas of the Sick Baby, when D1 awoke us at 3 a.m. Christmas morning vomiting across the playpen. (That was also the year we drove for hours in a blizzard to make it to the airport.) It was followed last year by the Christmas We Moved, which did have the advantage of the house being clean, but had the disadvantage of being immediately after starting potty training, an activity on which excitement of any sort has a very bad effect.
Of course, we're not guaranteed health or the avoidance of bad weather, but still, what's left seems quite manageable. The ducklings as yet have no Christmas expectations, so they are easy to satisfy. My sister, known online, for good reason, as Wondergirl, is coming out, which means days of dreaming up Grand New Ideas, and with her around, actually getting them done. And maybe, just maybe, this Christmas we can finish potty training. At least, that's my Christmas wish.