T'was the Night Before

The stockings are, in fact, hung at the chimney. The inlaws are asleep, or moving toward it, in my room. Younger Girl (who has been going through a heart-rending phase of clinging to Santa Claus and knowing better and moaning about it) is in bed; Sarcasm Girl is (if she knows what's good for her) putting away her clean clothes and clearing the top layer of grue from her bedroom. Emily, whose world has been turned around in the last couple of days, is sleeping the sleep of the tired and confused just: extra people staying, Mama and Dad sleeping in the living room, practically within paw's reach of her crate!, a strange tree that's grown up in the living room that she's not allowed to savage, and sparkly things underneath the tree that she's not allowed to gnaw on. For the first time since we moved in to the house we have a fire in the fireplace, which is very sweet. The fruitcake --papersky's Aunt Beryl's recipe again, only made with wheat-free, gluten-free flour (hi, sdn)--is made, the crown-roast is waiting. Only the stockings remain to be dealt with. Christmas is coming; the goose is getting fat.

The downside: I'm done with the antibiotics but my chest is still tight and I'm still coughing. I've been taking the world's nastiest cough syrup before bed--it has codeine in it, which keeps me from coughing, which I suppose is a goodness, but the taste is beyond vile, which is...not so great. Spouse is fighting a cold which appears to be moving into his chest; the girls are each a little sickly too. Come tomorrow night, when the inlaws go off to Sister-in-Law's house, my plan is to hole up in bed until, like, the girls go back to school. If I'm permitted to do so, that is...

Merry Christmas to them as Christmases; to those who have other rites, or none at all, I wish you a peaceful and enjoyable day. And Goodwill, to boot.