The Year Of Me

Say what you will, but this year brought a strange twist to the traditional passing out of the presents. After Santa, aka the youngest, handed out the last gift, a strange hush fell over the room. Mom! Look at all your presents! I looked down, then looked around. Indeed, I was surrounded by gifts galore (at least by my standards). The others had some, too, but mine outnumbered them all.

I like to call it

The Year Of Mom,

And it's about time.



Random Note: If you look past me to the oldest, you'll see him gazing in wonder at that crazy black cat of ours.





And the fact that most of the presents were from the husband and included such practical things like new glasses for the kitchen, fuzzy socks to keep my feet warm, and a gift box full of silky underwear (seriously) did not diminish the excitement of my bigger-than-the-rest pile.

Besides, he also got me perfume called Rebel Chic and Luv-A-Licious.

To quote a friend of mine, Stand back, girls. He's all mine.

The Year Of Mom. The Year of The Wife.

It's all good in my book.