Sitting around in the living room, which is full of the scent of spices from a pot on the stove. We mulled wine last night, and the pot wasn't emptied. We baked cookies yesterday, too. The cookies are gingerbread, a memory of my childhood, but my parents never ever mulled wine, and if they'd done it they wouldn't have put star anise and cardamom in it. Foreign. Different.
Last Sunday in Advent. Getting the house ready, must make the grocery list for Christmas dinner. We buried Mum on Friday, a year after she started wandering. We haven't wrapped the presents yet, because I don't think our children are Good With Resisting Temptation. Maybe I should, so they can get practice and I can go mad trying to keep them from opening everything. Maybe not.