My project isn’t finished. I’ll give it to Hubby anyway, with the stipulation that he give it back to me immediately and let me continue to work on it. Between the weather and gloppy spray paint, it’s taking much longer than I had anticipated. But my $8 thrift store find will be beautiful–soon.
The duck we bought last night is in a sinkful of water, frozen solid.
Despite the lit-up tree and the feast-waiting-to-happen in the fridge, it doesn’t feel much like Christmas. I was hoping a quiet holiday at home with Hubby would be relaxing–and it is–but there’s something to be said for spending the day with people who share your history and traditions.
I pointed out to Hubby that It’s a Wonderful Life is going to be on TV tonight, and he said something like, “Good luck with that.” I don’t think he was referring to the fact that the last time I watched it, I ended up bawling over the fact that we have no children. It’s because he has no attachment to it, no memories of watching it with his family as a child. And he doesn’t intend to start now.
So, instead, I’m watching a Firefly marathon on the Science channel. By myself. Merry Christmas to me.
I keep thinking next year will be better. Next year we’ll have an infant, or one on the way. We’ll have a “Baby’s 1st Christmas” ornament on the tree. My dad will be excited about his newest grandchild. My sister and I will cook. I’ll help my niece bake cookies. It’ll look, smell, and feel like Christmas.
Here’s hoping next year, we all have a merry Christmas.