Well, if Jesus had been born in southern California, the day might have been similar to this one -- breathtakingly clear, the skies wiped clean and brilliant blue, the wind rustling through the palms so vigorously in the wee hours of the morning that I woke quite suddenly and lay in my bed and just listened, wondering what was up.
The Teenagers all slept in this morning, so I was able to take a quick photo of what Santa brought. We're a family that doesn't wrap presents, so Santa bent his will to our customs and left each teenager her and his own pile.
Everyone was happy. I had three of my favorite Instagram photos blown up and canvassed -- each one showed Henry, Sophie and Oliver doing their favorite thing. I pretended to give each one to the kids, but they are actually for me.
One of my sisters gave me this Frida mug -- when my neighbor called to say that she had hot mulled wine at her house, I walked over and filled Frida up.
Later, I insisted on some group photos outside by the poinsettia tree. Ya'll there is NO FILTER on these photos. That's how blue the sky was (above) and how red the flowers. Jesus absolutely should have been born in southern California because there might not be better winter solstice weather anywhere else. I'm so grateful to live here -- always.
Oh, here are the group photos. I won't tell you what sort of words came out of all of our mouths in the taking of these photos. Some things never change, right?
We're winding down, getting ready for our Christmas Dinner with Uncle Tony. The Husband is grilling steaks and doing some other magical things in the kitchen. I'm drinking milk punch and tending to Sophie. All is calm. All is bright.
Merry Christmas to you and yours!