There is no snow outside. In fact, our yard is more green than brown.
Harriet, Louie and I have all been struck down with influenza. This, my friends, is not fun. Fevers, chills, everything is sore. Even my teeth hurt. Therefore, Christmas celebrations were canceled for both sides of the family.
The chocolate turtles I made for my dad and father-in-law were a big, fat disaster. My chocolate seized. The caramel was goopy. And they're just plain bitter. At least we made a quadruple recipe.
Out of the five books I ordered for my mother-in-law, four arrived damaged.
The gift I ordered for my mom was delivered to the wrong address.
Our Elf on the Shelf, Salt, has been stranded here for about four days.
I've gotten about six hours of sleep total in the last three nights. Poor Harriet has had an awful time sleeping.
I haven't showered in two days.
I have no voice whatsoever, and Harriet doesn't believe me when I tell her I can't speak up. "Just GET louder, Mom!" she says.
We've been distracted much of this Christmas season by Gus's MRI, which happened yesterday. I was crushed to not be able to go with, but it went really well and we got wonderful news. He has benign hydrocephalus and doesn't need a shunt. Thank Jesus.
Andrew and I have been anything but merry. In fact, we had a big fight last night. More accurately, I blew up and spewed all kinds of mean things at him while he sat there. And I didn't get him any presents.
BUT...if you would have told me four Christmases ago, when I was drowning in grief and fear, that I'd be spending this Christmas pushing through my own deliriously feverish, overtired haze to comfort and snuggle my three children, I would have cried a lake...an ocean...of shock and joy. So although many of our presents remain unwrapped and we're feeling far from festive, beneath this droopy-eyed, slightly sweaty exterior is a heart bursting with Christmas cheer...and gratitude. Especially gratitude...aimed at a God who has been unthinkably generous with us.
|Merry Christmas, friends.|