We are off to the Grands today. Yesterday I scrubbed my floor. Really scrubbed it. On my hands and knees. No tile left untouched. It's a Christmas Eve tradition that always give me a good case of the feels. I cry. I laugh. I sing along with Mitch. It's my connection to Christmas past when the family would gather here for dinner and general mayhem. I would clean for days.
I clean while the winter minestrone bubbles. We always do Italian on Christmas Eve.
Lasagna is traditional. Always was. Not sure why but it's what we do. It's just The Mister and me now but I still cook for a herd.
I hung silver icicles on the tree since my tinsel was a bust. Amazon delivered them yesterday morning. Imagine that.
Peppermint martinis after dinner made us nostalgic.
We looked at photos of Christmases past.
The Santa puzzle got finished.
So did the poinsettia mini quilt.
And Daddio's wonky Christmas log cabin. It was just what I needed to snuggle under while watching A Christmas Story last night. No snow. Just rain but all was merry and bright.