Most of the cards are out or written or I'm aware that I've yet to write them.
Some stuff to make the bracelets is scattered across the table. The rest of the stuff is somewhere else.
Pressies are in or out of the loft and thrown into our bedroom. One is even wrapped.
The cakes are cooked, stoked with booze and marzipanned, ready to royal ice.
We know where to buy sprouts.
The bird possibilities are in the hands of the random god of Christmas Eve reductions.
G and I are fed and have wine in a glass and in the garage.
The kids are relaxed, excited and watching Gremlins.
Christmas this year is a furry, warm thing. Companionable. I just have to remember not to get it wet or feed it after midnight.
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