Anticipation, anticipation, is makin' me late. . . .

My last internet-ordered gift arrived in today's mail, so for all practical purposes, I'm done. With shopping, I mean. I still have a pile of boxes in the back of the car that need to be mailed, but if they're a little bit late, I figure there are people who will have some more Christmas joy a day or so after everybody else's gift-opening is over with. That's how I'm rationalizing away my inability to haul my lazy behemoth-sized behind to the post office, anyway. I know there are people who are anxious to get some of these boxes, so I apologize profusely. The boxes will eventually arrive, I promise.

Does anybody else out there love to sit in the darkened room and just look at the twinkling tree? It's as if some kind of magic was nesting there in front of the big living room window, for us in the house to see and for anybody driving along the road to share. I can't wait for my kids to come home! I don't think they can get away from their jobs until Christmas Eve, but it will be so good to have them here that night, to wait for Santa Claus (yes, we are a thoroughly believing household!!) and to once again watch them opening their gifts on Christmas morning, turning just for a few minutes back into the little giggling children they used to be.

I think one of the biggest 'transitions' of our lives is that first Christmas morning when your kids don't wake up at the crack of dawn, desperate to run into the room to see their presents. It's a real shocker, that first Christmas morning when you find out that your kids would really rather sleep in 'till ten or so, and open things up then. I'm all for sleeping in, myself, but on Christmas morning? I'll never get used to it.

I threw all the dirty laundry down the front stairs and now it's going to be really hard getting over them to the laundry room. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

And now, since it's almost four in the afternoon and I'm still bumming around in this ratty red gown, perhaps I'd better put something on before someone rings the doorbell and gets a nasty shock.

One more week, dear ones. And it's my favorite week of the year; it's still all ahead of us, and the anticipation is better than the actual day.

Merry Anticipatory Week, everyone.