Sure and it’s late as I write this. Nearly 11 o’clock. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. I still have a little shopping left to do – I feel bad having left it so late, but money has been ultra-tight and I can’t spend what I don’t have. Now, however, I have a little to work with again, so … the dreaded Day Before Christmas shopping excursion is in my immediate future. That is, first thing tomorrow morning. Soon as the stores open, I’m there. In and out. I have a plan, Stan.

Wish me luck.

Also on my list of Things to Accomplish: A stop at the grocery store for the things I forgot when I was there yesterday. Grrrr. Once home, I need to do some sweeping, vacuuming, and dusting. Then I’m thinking of making cookies. Sugar cookies, in gingerbread-man and star shapes. Sprinkles on ‘em. And then snickerdoodles, because we love them like no other.

OK, maybe just the snickerdoodles.

While they’re baking, there are presents to wrap and put under the tree.

Ours will be a quiet Christmas Day, just me and Mr Wren, Cary and Matt, the dog and the three cats. My mother is spending the holidays with my sister and nephew in New Mexico this year. Odd as it sounds, this is the first year in many that the Wren family is staying home.

The fun part? I love to cook. Thanksgiving and Christmas were made with me in mind, I’m convinced. So we’re having a Christmas goose, and I found a recipe for Yorkshire pudding I want to try. I’m roasting cauliflower (surprisingly delicious) and trying a new recipe for Brussels sprouts with a maple glaze. We’ll have mashed potatoes and stuffing and gravy. And for desert, a cranberry tart.

My day is cut out for me, isn’t it?

I’m not sure how my hands are going to hold up for all this. Nor am I sure I can get through it without some strategic, wee lie-downs for refueling purposes here and there. And if I can’t get it all done, well, that’s life. I’m not going to sweat it.

The day AFTER Christmas is a special one this year. Matt and Cary are leaving early in the morning to drive to Ukiah and pick up Matt’s son Phoenix. He’s a sweet, beaming boy of 11, my almost-grandson. It’s been so long since I’ve had a child to buy Christmas presents for! I’m afraid I went a little overboard, but I suspect he’ll forgive me.

So on Saturday I’m making a big pot of soup to eat with crusty bread. We’ll have the four of us, plus Phoenix and Matt’s parents for a light dinner and desert – Chocolate mousse. Because I want to.  ;o)

And then Phoenix will spend the rest of his winter break with us. I hope we’ll have a little snow so he can build snowmen and have some snowball battles. Isn’t that what going to Gramma Wren’s house is all about?

OK. Yes. I’ll go to bed now…