It’s cold here.
It’s bone chilling, teeth gritting, hairs freeze in your nostrils cold. I remember trudging to school on days like this, wearing skirts and tights, because girls were not allowed to wear slacks. Now I’m cheerfully sending my boys out in the mind numbing cold ~ and I’m doing it with a smile, because I have piles, and piles, and yes, more piles of work to do.
I don’t know if I hope my boss calls me to work today because I need the Christmas money, or I hope he doesn’t, because I need the time to muck out my house and get ready for the holidays.

Since my entry yesterday I’ve been thinking about memories. My sister commented on my blog last night that her youngest {bonus} daughter still has fond memories of our Thanksgiving football game, “{she} said the other day that we always played a football game on Thanksgiving when she was little.”
I have memories too, of things we “always” did as children too. I remember making gingerbread houses one year, and decorating sugar cookies many years. I remember the year the power went out on Christmas eve, and I remember the year I desperately wanted “Pebbles and Bam~Bam Dolls.” But being aware, at even that young age that Santa had a limited supply of cash and telling my father right before going to sleep that I would be okay with just getting “Pebbles.”
Of course, Santa brought both of them to me, and my sister put my hair up in a Pebbles ponytail, using the doll’s bone as a decoration.
I remember the elaborated Barbie doll house my mother made for my older sister, and I still marvel at her inventiveness. For example, she used Clorox bottles to make kitchen chairs.
I wonder what memories I am giving my children, if one joyful football game goes down in family legend. Will they treasure the contrived moments of visiting Santa and getting a token candy cane. Or will their minds linger on the happy accidents like days of making puppet shows and playing with trains.
I hope their memories will forgive me for emotional breakdowns while trying to untangle lights, and dwell instead on the glow of the fire and the taste of hot chocolate.