At some point in the afternoon, at least one of my children will have put black olives on his fingertips to wave that hand around, showing everyone what priority food looks like. Someone will attempt to get out of the age-dependent (bites = age) expectation of the green bean casserole by hiding their portion under a roll. Someone will mention the Broncos/Chiefs game a dozen times.
I'll eat a slice of pecan pie topped with whipped cream, drink coffee, determine what else needs to be done as far as the Christmas lights. Stand on the roof and wonder where the hell the broken bulb is that has sabatoged the next 25 feet. Wonder when I'll have time during the next week to fix the manger scene. Wonder why I worry about the state of a plastic creche, plastic Wise Men, plastic sheep, a plastic Baby Jesus.
Wonder if no Plastic Baby Jesus is better than no Jesus at all.
Harry hildays, ya'll