We found the stockings last night. Max and Maria hung them, and the gingerbread is baked. We're missing one package delivery... Oh well! Geoff has to work late, after all, but we can roll with that. Tomorrow, early, we'll sit beneath our Christmas tree, then wrestle with our cat over the gifts he's been hoarding and guarding from up in his faux fir. And we'll laugh, and maybe look for batteries, probably complain about the absurdly hard to open blister packed things, and share happy sighs over perfect gifts. And even though some of us insist food is unnecessary on Christmas Day, I have dough rising, just in case. We will break bread, and give thanks.