Our Christmas was sort of uneventful.
Except for that time it suddenly snowed, and it was Christmas Eve, and no one was working, so the streets didn’t get plowed, and we had to go to dinner, but Mike had some computery work emergency he had to work on for hours at Christmas Eve dinner.
He works hard for the money, so hard for it, honey.
So, yeah — there was that.
Mike got dressed up in his Holiday finest.
We got lots of presents, I ate waaaaayyyy too much gluten (thank god for new year’s resolutions, huh?), and now I’m dreading taking down all the decorations.
And then it snowed some more, and the dogs must have been freezing — because this happened (and this never, ever happens)…
And then it was all over. I made my customary list of resolutions:
Don’t be fat.
Stop drinking diet soda.
Learn to sew.
Keep the house clean.
Take the dogs for more walks.
So far, I’m 1/5 (and that’s only because I’ve managed not to get fatter, in like two days.)
But I’m optimistic, this is our year.
A few years ago (2008 to be exact) I decided that it was going to be a great year for me — and then in rapid succession I met Mike, adopted my sweet puppy, and got engaged.
So this year I’m doing the same thing.
This is our year.
We’re fixing up the house (thanks to Mike’s new, fancy schmancy Christmasy tools), and I’m having some babies, damnit.
The universe seems to agree with me — since this was in my fortune cookie on NYE…
That’s some good juju, if you ask me.