We measure our holidays by the yardstick of contagious diseases. If we don't have a communicable stomach disorder, it's a good Christmas.
It was a good Christmas.
We did have communicable disease--a nasty cough that lingers on for weeks. And we did have some stomach disorders--I'm suspecting a migraine, though we shall have to wait to see if more materialize. But we didn't have both. So it was an improvement. We even made it to the family gathering on New Year's.
In between Christmas and New Year's, I stayed in bed. Or tried to. That's maternal life--taking a light day because you're exhausted just means eighteen meals, two loads of laundry, five potty runs, and seven squabbles. The ducklings are interested in cooking, but their actual repertoire extends to quesadillas, and they can't get the refried beans open without help. As usual, I bribed them into getting the chores done with a new computer game that I got for Christmas. (It's Bookworm Adventures! It's educational! And besides, how could I not love a game where my prowess comes from being able to spell long words?)
I did not make good on any of my plans to clean the basement. I think I need to stop planning it, as it seems to guarantee that I will spend all of the vacation time on the couch.