Advent activity calendars, that is. Not for our children the crappy stamped
I had a weak intention to sew an advent calendar this year, but realized (in time, thank goodness) that my sewing skills are not even mediocre, and that the last thing I want to look at every Christmas until my children grow up is a crooked, baggy, ugly advent calendar hung up on the wall for a month.
So we bought one. Hooray for retail!
Last week I was all set to write beautifully calligraphed, keepsake worthy notes for every box. Our activities were a mix of cookie baking, ornament making, Christmas book reading, toy drive giving, new pyjama getting fabulousness.
Then came Thursday. The day I caught what I thought was The Man Flu when Seth had it. Words cannot explain how truly crappy I felt until this morning.
So I made a movie. Here's me on Thursday (also Friday and Saturday):
Saturday was the Santa Claus Parade, and the Stupid Advent Calendar of Stupidness had also promised my children that we'd decorate the tree, too, so here's a movie of us all frolicking throughout the day, glowy and happy and filled with Christmas Spirit:
By Monday, even though the concrete snot in my face had solidified enough that my teeth were about to fall out, I roused enough to get excited about the phone I won from Christine at Cook The Story in her Where's Your Coffee Contest:
(Yes, those are dirty diapers piled up on the arm of my sofa, Judgy McJudgerson.)
Today I have drugs (and a sinus infection. Hence, the drugs). Norah is home from school for the second day in a row with strep throat.
The Advent Calendar of Doom has decreed that we're making and writing Christmas cards today. Don't be alarmed if you get one from my Glitter and Profanities collection.
(Also: Thanks Christine. I really am excited, except I look like a starved hobo and my house has fallen down from lack of cleaning. Also I'm buried in laundry.)