belated

Grandson #1 with his Never-Go-Anywhere-Without-Him pal Cisco. Decked out for Christmas.

May I be the last to wish you a Happy New Year!

And apologies on being MIA on the blogfront! I rarely get a cold or any kind of bug. But about once a decade some virus hits me and makes up for lost time. This was my year.

I think I told you that my grandsons always spend the week after Christmas at my house before they have to go back to school. Apparently all the holiday bustle and after-Christmas Chuckie Cheesing and ice-skating weakened my usually hearty immune system. Right after they left, the BIG BUG jumped into the void, and I've been a fixture on the couch for a week and a half. Periodically trying to do a little knitting, or raising myself to do a few errands, only to end up wiped out and back to square one. I could barely force myself to move, let alone blog about our Christmas grandeur or the fun with the boys.

So here are some pictures I've been saving to blog about--with severely abbreviated comments and my best wishes for the new year.



My two kids, and the proudest achievements of my life. As different as night and day--but both wonderful, both so beautiful and perfect to me. I am in awe of the adults they have become, and am humbled and so ever grateful that they were granted to me.













A small part of the merry-makers. And yes, I do leave dishes until the next day. Christmas here is all about Christmas Eve (thank you, Daddy), when presents are opened and the party begun after a traditional oyster stew dinner.

(We enjoy adult beverages, as you can see.) In fact, when a brand new, unopened bottle of wine was dropped on the ceramic tile floor of my kitchen, I was the only one with the presence of mind to remember 'Glass!' and keep others from licking it up.

Missing here are the hysterical pictures of my daughter and my niece, her cousin, the same age except for a month. One year when they were small little girls, they decided to bedeck each other in Christmas bows after presents were opened. It has become a tradition. (If you look closely at the picture of my daughter and her brother above, you can see a green ribbon that she put over his head, trying to involve him in the festivities. He refuses to take part in the 'wearing of the bows on your head' ceremony.) The pictures were entirely too blurry to see what was happening, because I was laughing too hard.

Also missing is the picture of the socks I finished that night. As an illustration of a 'picture is worth a thousand words', they clearly demonstrate my new rule about why you don't kitchener stitch toes if you can't remember how many glasses of wine you've had.

Hope your Christmas was as joyous, and that your new year is filled with blessings.