Christmas card?

Fuhggeddaboud it...

If you haven't received it by now, you probably never will. It is a crying shame and we are ever so sorry...

For each of our 9 married Christmases, the ritual of clementines, glogg and Christmas cards has been a real high point of the season for us. But this year, this year.... This year our spirits were more than a little depleted, before December even started, so what little festive cheer there was had to be marshalled and totally focused on the tasks at hand: making a special Christmas for the kids and a big Nilsen family visit. (Not necessarily two separate tasks, but you get my point.)

But in the tradition of old fashioned Christmases, maybe a few stories can cheer up an otherwise glum point in the proceedings. ("A story! A story!" I hear the small children cry.)

Cecilie blows her mum a raspberry at the dinner table, and Kirsten whispers (so that the whole family doesn't notice Cecilie's atrocious manners): "What is THAT about?"
"It's a poem, that my father told me about."

She's a Dylan in the making: a poet, didn't know it!
"Just a little something I learned over in England..."

One day during Christmas, mum got home from work, and Cecilie leapt on her excitedly and exclaimed 'Mommy! The most magical thing happened to me today!' When mum enquired what that might be, Cecilie whispered 'I... ate.. chocolate cake.' (We blame Auntie Eileen's influence on tiny Cecilie for this primeval urge.)