Lovelihood

Out to lunch on the last day before routine sets back in, we stumbled across a mysterious message in the form of an in-the-sidewalk panel.

I spent enough time this afternoon teaching myself to crochet that I can cross that new venture off my list of things to spend time doing.

Once a year I take my requisite sip of champagne and conclude that, indeed, I do not like the stuff. But after we hussle the kids up to bed, perhaps a little more eagerly than normal (certainly not ready to even attempt to keep them up until midnight), we break out the other decidedly adult treat of the softest brie we can dig out of the self-serve cheese counter and a small pot of fig preserves. And that's the part I like about New Year's Eve.

We're a couple days off, yet. But already, it's begun.

The Boy wishlisted and received an cartoonized history of bubble gum, which spurred yesterday's expedition to the gum wall and the inevitable side trip to the candy store where we came into possession of our own bubble gum, an invention whose practical applications still very much elude The Boy.

Some might revel in their postprandial tradition of rendering turkey parts into stock or soup bits. The reason I push so hard to have a big bird at the Christmast table is so I can have the makings for turkey fried rice, which also fills a soft taco quite nicely.

The sweet mobile we gave Bear for Christmas made a home suspended from our dining room chandelier.