We’re home, though you might have figured that from the picture of snow on my instagram feed. We walked through the door late Tuesday night, and things have pretty much been on fire since then.  Taking a week off seemed like a good idea  – well, truth be told it was a good idea, a great one even, but Joe and I are both self-employed, and we don’t get vacation time, and nobody does our jobs when we’re gone, so we both walked back into our lives so far behind it would make your head spin. This morning Joe sat on the edge of the bed and contemplated another 14 hour workday, and turned to me and said “I want to go back to Costa Rica.”   I didn’t say anything. It was wonderful to be away, but by Monday night I could feel the work I wasn’t doing breathing its hot fetid breath on the back of my neck, and I don’t know how much longer I would have lasted.

We did have an amazing time.  In the span of a week we hiked the rainforest, swam in hot springs (which are not as hot as you would expect, what with being fed by a volcano and all that) ate our own body weight in fresh fruit every day, snorkelled at Isla Juanilla (I got stung by a jellyfish, which made me feel like a serious snorkeller) rented a 4×4 and drove to the top of a volcano, hiked through a chunk of Rincon de la Vieja National Park, saw 2 deadly snakes, got bitten by ants, ate Gallo Pinto (rice and beans) with just about every meal, drove on white roads, swam at least 10 times a day, drank champagne in a hot tub (a few times) had whole conversations, saw monkeys, walked on the beach, and took several nauseating selfies a day to send our children.

It was amazing. It was the perfect mix of adventure and margaritas by the pool, and after a few years of learning Spanish, I had the satisfaction of being told by one gentleman that I spoke “as well as a nine year old.”  (Considering that Luis speaks Spanish a thousand times better than I do at three, I know this to be a lie, but it was a flattering and charming lie, so I took it.)

We slept, we ate, we saw things we’ve never seen before, and we came home planning the next one.

Other than the mess it left our regular lives in, I can recommend it.  I did knit lots too, but I’ll show you later. It’s blocking.

We arrived in Costa Rica yesterday, after a day that started at 4:30am and -19, contained a decently long flight, several amazingly bad cups of coffee (none of which have been in this country. They have their coffee scene together, let me tell you) and had a bus ride from the airport that was one of the most amazing things ever.  The roads curve around  mountains and volcanoes and every so often the driver would pull over and say “mono” and gesture wildly out the window.  It turns out that “mono” is MONKEY and there they would be, hanging from the trees, swooping along from branch to branch, a few even with their babies on their backs. One for the bucketlist, right there.  There were howler monkeys, and spider monkeys, and apparently there are white-faced monkeys, but the guy cautioned us against going near any monkeys at all, but especially not the white-faced ones, which he claims (and it is possible that this was a mistake with his English) are “bi-polar.” (Your guess is as good as mine for what that means. I will avoid the white-faced monkeys until I figure it out.)   Not only does the road curve, and occasionally become rather steep, one whole section of it was… you know what? I’m not so sure it was a road, at least not in the modern use of the word.

We arrived in the late afternoon, found the place we’re staying and got sorted. (It’s very nice.) Today we relaxed, got our crap together, and planned where we’re going and when, and got all the transportation arranged. Then we did nothing. Zip. Nil. Nada.  I went to yoga on the beach, Joe read a book and listened to music, and I swam and knit and swam and knit and knit. With today’s knitting and yesterdays together, I have a very pretty pair of socks all done. We did the finished object pictures for them right there by the pool.

Yarn: Lana Grossa Meilenweit: India, colour 2305. Pattern, my regular one.

Now, we have reservations for dinner, and Joe’s almost done his email, so there’s only so much time I can spend with you, but let me tell you this. If you would like to perplex and befuddle a few of the hardworking people of Costa Rica?  Have your drink delivered as you just so happen to be modelling a pair of wool socks by the pool.  (That drink is a pina colada. Joe’s idea.  I like myself a nice sedate gin and tonic in the heat, but Joe was absolutely sure we would have more fun with a frozen drink. I don’t know if he was right, but felt compelled to check.)

People walked by, looked stunned for a minute, then slapped a smile on their faces and asked me if I needed anything.  Likely thinking I needed some sense, since it was more than 30 degrees here today.

More tomorrow! (I hope. We’re going to a rainforest.)

PS. I wonder if that’s the first picture of me in a bathing suit on this blog? I bet it is. Well, it was bound to happen eventually, and I would have put money on it involving wool socks.

The tree is down. It’s down two days early for us – I like to do it on the twelfth day of Christmas, but this year I’ll be doing something different. Joe and I are leaving in the morning for Central America – Costa Rica, to be precise, and we are excited and nervous and a little flipped out.  Here. Let’s look at Joe’s (finally – man his feet are big) finished Christmas socks to relax.

(The yarn is Into The Whirled’s Pakokku sock yarn in Cardamom, and the pattern is mine. Coming soon. Random black scraps from the stash for cuff, heel and toe.)

I feel guilty about going somehow, I always do when I get something nice, but I’m working very hard to get over it.  Joe and I skipped the honeymoon when we got married a few years back (it seemed silly – we’d been together so long) and before this we’ve always travelled with the ladies, or me with my mum, or him with his.  (We are very charming that way.)  Between this excuse and that, and money and children and …. we realized two weeks ago that we’re always putting it off. Saying we’re going to travel, saying we’re going to see everything together, but we never do. The timing is always bad, it seems.  There’s always a reason we can’t go. My work, his work… the travel fund sits there, and we don’t spend it.  Two weeks ago we were working our way through Christmas stuff, and Joe said something like “*&%$ it. Let’s just go.”

I looked at my calendar, he looked at his, and lo and behold we each had exactly 7 days free. At the same time. I think I said something like “We can’t. That’s crazy.” and Joe said something like “Steph, we haven’t been away together on a trip – just the two of us, since we went to Hawaii for the weekend 17 years ago.  It’s not crazy. It’s the opposite of crazy.”

I took a deep  breath then, because I am sort of a little bit not good at making plans quickly like that (if by a little bit not good at it you understand that I mean I am not good at it the way that toddlers are bad at accounting) and we booked it. We got online that exact minute, and we booked it. Right then. Right there. Then we got our shots, and said nothing to nobody (because it all seemed so wild) and then about a week ago we told the family. We told them sheepishly, feeling guilty about the decadence, wondering what they would say.  They all said “Good for you.” My mum even pointed out that now is the time. The ladies are all big enough to be left, all on their own, and we have no grandchildren (yet, they can  all hold off on that for a while as far as we’re concerned) and if not now… when?

So, tomorrow we’ll fly far away, and see new things, and I don’t know what it will be like, but I promise to tell you all about it. I’ve packed all my things, and the only decisions left to make are ones about yarn.  I’m looking forward to sun and sand and rainforests and volcanoes and monkeys (and I am pretending the spiders aren’t as big as Hondas in Costa Rica) … but the knitting. Oh, there will be knitting.

I’ve got a skein of sock yarn, and…. well.  After that, the world is my oyster. What should I take?

Ah, New Years Eve – a busy day for me always, as I tidy and clean the house, take out the garbage, catch up on laundry, try to get everything as sorted as I can. I like to end as I mean to go on, and that means that the dust bison roaming the living room have to go – lest they haunt me all year long. I do this every year, and although it has never made one whit of a difference, I persist in doing it… feeling like if things are all unsorted as I enter the year, they’ll stay unsorted for the rest.  (I suppose actually, that it does work, and that the level of chaos our housekeeping has for the entire year is really the upgraded version – and that we’d be some sort of horrible episode of an embarrassing tv show otherwise. That alone is enough to keep me cleaning today.)  I’ll tidy up here too, and show you a few of the things I’ve made over the last little while, things I kept on the lowdown, so as not to spoil the surprises of all parties concerned.  I made my mum some slippers after all, those old fashioned ones…

I’d link to the pattern, but it’s one I’ve carried in my head for about 30 years. I think I’ve made at least 50 pairs over the years. It’s from a Paton’s booklet I had in my teens, and when my Mum slipped them I’m pretty sure it was her 10th or 15th pair. She’s been wearing the French Press ones for a few years, and in my stocking this year was all the buttons from those worn out slippers, returned to me to be recycled into new ones. Typical of my mum, a helpful and not so subtle hint. I think she might prefer those to these old fashioned ones. (Noted, Mum.)

Frankie, Myrie and Luis got Foxy and Wolfie hats – all foxes, for the lot of them. I’m charmed to death by these hats – and I think Luis and Myrie were too.

Lots of growling and fierce faces. (It turns out foxes are not as mild an animal as I imagined.) There’s no way to know if Frankie liked his. He didn’t cry when we put it on him, so I’m taking that as a win.

Carlos, Meg, Pato and Old Joe all got socks, You’ve seen all those go by as I finished them – Amanda and my brother Ian got hats…

I was especially pleased about Ian’s hat, since it turns out that his dog ate his touque Christmas Morning, so my timing was fabulous. (Thanks Seamus.)  Ken got a fabulous pair of socks… I’d gotten a lovely gift of this Fade to Black yarn from CaterpillarGreen (thank you!) and as soon as I opened the packet, I knew that Ken would love them, and he does.

Besides all that knitting, I made tons of food, lots of cookies, several messes and… Well, here’s something I’m pretty proud of.

I made a knitter.  Blog, meet the newest to join your ranks, my Co-Lead on the Bike Rally Steering Committee this year, Cameron.  Now some time ago, Cameron rescued my knitting. I’d left it behind after a meeting we were at, and he traipsed through the night, found it, and brought it back to me. When he did, he mentioned that he’d like to learn to knit too.  Now, people say that all the time, usually it’s just a reaction to how much I knit – some sort of contagion that passes quickly. With Cameron though, well – he brought it up again a few days later, and a few days after that, he said something like “we still have to choose a time to get together so you can teach me to knit” and I started to think he was serious. I tested the waters by asking him what he thought he’d like to make – and he responded with “What could I make?”  I thought about it for a few minutes, and told him I was confident he could make a hat. A little one. “A hat for your nephew” I suggested. “For Christmas.”  Cameron lit right up with this idea, and a few days later I met him in a pub (it’s a very good place to learn knitting) and after a pint or two, he had it. He worked on a swatch for starters, and when I had a sense of his gauge, and he had a sense of what he was doing, we ripped that bit back, and he cast on for his hat.

Cameron knit on for a little bit, and then I taught him how to fix a dropped stitch so there was a chance he could knit without me… and left him to his own devices.  The next day, he dropped me a text mentioning that he was having a little trouble stopping with the knitting. This was my first clue that he might be hooked. The next day he fixed a dropped stitch by himself and sent me several pictures of the process. The text read “I’m so proud!”  This was the second hint.  Fast forward a week or two, and Cameron is getting ready to fly home to his family for Christmas. We meet again, and this time I’ve got in mind that he’s going to finish this hat (or not) without me, far from Toronto, with nobody to help him.  I teach him how to do the colour work part of the hat (aim high!) how to k2tog, how to read his pattern, do magic loop,  i-cord, and talk about how to weave in his ends.  He asks, very charmingly – if he’s going to be allowed to knit on the plane. (Hint three.) That night I phone a few knitting friends and tell them about how even his stitches are. I tell him, but only briefly. I don’t want him over-confident.

The day after, he does knit on the plane. (Clue four, received) and when he lands, he has the colour work started. He texts me a picture. It’s almost annoyingly perfect.  (Clue five.)

The next few days pass, leading up to Christmas, and Cameron texts a few questions about the pattern, says he thinks he’s figured out “the loop thing” and starts to sound nervous. “I’m worried about I’ll do with myself when it’s done” he sends, and something in my heart leaps. He’s starting to sound like a knitter. Not someone who’s just knitting a hat, not a one off… but an actual Knitter.  I comfort him as best I can. I remind him he didn’t knit for decades, and he was somehow okay.

On Christmas Morning, the pictures arrive.

It’s a hat. It’s a beautifully finished hat, and it fits, and Cameron looks so proud, and his nephew looks so sweet (and like Cameron is making him hold still for a hat picture, which is resonant and funny, and probably the first of many incredibly awkward knitting moments – my phone is full of them) and it’s such a really, really good first project, and I text “Congratulations!” and he texts back “Thanks!  I kinda want to bring it back to Toronto so you can see it and then mail it back, but I guess that would be weird.”

And that’s not weird, not to me, and probably not to you, and that’s almost when I believe I made a knitter. Almost. The deal is sealed a few days later, when out of wool, far from home, and headed for the airport, Cameron sends the following.

“I really am a bit distressed I won’t be knitting on the plane. I have a feeling that airplanes are going to be where I do a lot of this. And steering committee meetings.”

And with that text, I know two things. Cameron is a knitter now, and I totally chose the right person to go to meetings with.

So that’s what I made this year. All those hats, so many socks, several sweaters…. and a Knitter. We are legion. Happy New Year.  See you in 2016.

PS: I’d be an idiot if I didn’t give you a way to show your love to Cameron, and welcome him to the fold. To that end, here’s his bike rally fundraising page, and… in case you’re pleased that I’ve brought him to us… here’s mine.  

PPS: I made sure he took a lot of pictures.  He doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll need them for his Ravelry account. 

I’m disorganized today, the house all in a tip, disaster everywhere, and I’m working hard to pull it together for New Years. I tried pulling my thoughts together into one cohesive thing – but it wouldn’t go, so Five Things and a few pictures from the last few days it is.

1. I heard someone complain the other day that Christmas is so much work for such a fast payoff… that it’s days and days of prep for just one day.  I thought about that, and I tried to sympathize, but really, around here, Christmas goes on, and on and on.  It’s really more of a season for this family. We had almost 20 gatherings of friends and families over the last month, and I like it just that way, I think.

2. I am very tired.

3. On Christmas Eve, we celebrated together at Joe’s sister’s place, and then came home, together as a family. The  ladies all spent the night here, sleeping in their old beds, and as parents, we wondered (over a good glass of whiskey after they were all tucked in) if there is ever a time that it stops feeling wonderfully right to have them all under our roof.

4. On Christmas morning, we came downstairs and made coffee, and got the last bits together, and as is our tradition, the ladies waited at the top of the stairs for the green light to come down. They urged Ken and Joe and I to work faster, and giggled like maniacs while we got it all together. Joe walked around like he does every Chistmas morning, saying things like “Oh, it looks like Santa Claus came last night” to further peals of laughter.

When we put the music on – that’s their signal, like it always has been, they came tearing down the stairs, and sat where they always do, and said what they always do, and at some point, as they all carried on the way they have for years and years, Joe and Ken and I realized that for all intents and purposes – that morning they were children again. Even though they’re all in their twenties, and Amanda is closer to thirty than she is twenty, it hadn’t occurred to a single one of them to come downstairs and get a coffee before the music played. Not one of them suggested sleeping at their own homes, not one of them said anything like “Hey, I’m a grownup now, this is a little silly.” They all fell right in line. It was…. delightful. I’m sure the year will come when one of them refuses to wait at the top of the stairs, or wants to stay up and have that glass of whiskey with us.. but this was not that year. I love that.

5. All handknits were happily received this year but honourable mention goes to Pato, who was so delighted to receive his first pair of hand knit socks that he instagrammed them.

There’s a good boy.

How did yours go?

Hello Blog, from me to you, on what’s been a slightly hysterical Christmas Eve.  Joe and I have been flat out all day, and the last cookies are baked, the dinner for our gathering tonight is in the oven, we think we have everything wrapped, and with less than an hour to go, we’re still scrambling.

With all that looming though, I wanted to take a minute to wish you all well, to tell you that I hope for you all that is lovely over the next day or two, and to say that I didn’t finish my Christmas knitting, and maybe you didn’t either, and that absolutely, it isn’t going to matter in the morning.

Knitting is, I have often said, a container for love. We work hard to make something for someone, pouring our time and energy and love into a tangible thing. When we hand knitting to someone, we’re hoping they’ll hear what we’re really saying, which is “I love you. I think you’re wonderful. I value your happiness, so much so that I’ve spent this time on you. My love is in this.”

It feels good. Even if the other person doesn’t understand that the hat you just gave them is love made firm and real (sometimes they think it’s just a hat) we do, and it’s an amazing trick to be able to do it.  If you didn’t finish though, keep this in mind.

You can just say those things – with words, instead of yarn.  I love you. I think you’re wonderful. I believe you’re worth my time.

Merry Christmas all.  Thanks for sharing this time with me. We’ll catch you on the other side.

I’m sitting here poppets, with a glass of champagne (left over from our Solstice celebration last night) and you can stick a fork in me, because I am done.  Now, I’m not technically done, I’m pretty far from done. There’s knitting left to knit and the wrapping, mercy… I can’t even talk about the wrapping, but this morning I forayed out and made my annual military style strike on the mall, and while I was there, I got done. Let me back up. Last night was the solstice, and it was a thing of beauty. I lit the ice lanterns and every candle in the house, and made a simple supper, and then the knitters came, and we had the grandest time.

The whole time, I was filled with the loveliest sense of calm. My friends, the candles, the cozy long night… I woke up this morning fortified, and sure that the season would go off as it should.  I have another finished pair of socks (I’m behind, but at least that’s done)

and I did what we always do on the Solstice – I got online and made all our charitable donations for the year. It’s tradition for us, I always feel so lucky and blessed on the Solstice. Lucky to live in such a peaceful and wealthy country, lucky to have a family that’s safe and healthy… lucky to have the resources to make things nice for everyone. it feels right to spread it around on this day.  (This years recipients were The Bike Rally (that’s a link to my page, if you’re feeling a little solstice joy) and Spread the Net, MSF, and Because I am a girl.  I was so heartened by all of this, that I took my little list of things left to do, and left for the mall feeling…. not too bad about it at all.

I hate the mall. It’s everything I dislike about this season all rolled into one, and the crowds get me, and the parking gets me, and the lighting in the place gets me… but it remains the best way to buy 12 unrelated things, and so once a year, I go there, and i shop. I go with a plan, I go with a list, and I go with speed.   I was there, and I’d bought just about everything I needed, and I was hot, and I was crabby, and I was hungry, and I just needed a few more stocking type things for Joe, and I was in The Bay. The Bay is a fine Canadian institution, and not a bad place to try and wrap up loose ends, and that’s what I was trying to do.  I was shopping, but I didn’t know for what, and the whole thing felt like it had fallen apart into a wild jaunt through a commercial nightmare, and it should have been that that was when I went home. I should have looked at myself, looked at my budget, looked at how very much I’d gotten already, and I should have left. Right that minute, but I swear that the air is funny in that place, and I couldn’t think right, and so I was rushing up the escalator towards… I don’t know what (which should have been another clue) and I came off the escalator at a thousand miles an hour, and in front of me was this.

You can see the escalator I came up right there, and you can see these mannequins with their arms stuck right out.  See it? Well, I didn’t. i came off the escalator, and the woman right behind me said “Oh CAREFUL” and I didn’t register it was directed at me, and I ran straight into the outstretched hand of the first mannequin. Took it right in the head.  I hit it with all the force of a woman undone by shopping. I ran straight into it, clotheslined myself, reeled backwards, and then fell down. Backwards, like in a movie.

The woman rushed over and asked if I was OK, and then a guy came over and said “Holy (*^%. You really ran into that!” (Thanks buddy. Hadn’t noticed.) I sort of staggered up, and said “I’m ok. I’m ok” and prepared to flee  (I am exactly the sort of person who has extensive experience with embarrassing situations of all types) and snatched up my scattered packages, all while insisting I was fine (with the big handprint of the mannequin on my forehead) and the lady and the guy started handing me my things and saying things like “Oh Wow, that’s going to leave a mark” and just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, the guy says “Um, I think you spilled all your….” and I look down, and the bag that had contained ten pairs of panties (complete with lace, in bright colours) has ruptured, and strewn festive ladies undergarments all over the floor.

We picked them up together, and stuffed them into my purse, and I stood there for a minute, looking around to see if I’d dropped anything else. The guy wandered off, the lady asked me one more time if I was quite sure I was all right (I totally was) and in a heartbeat, I realized I was done. Shopping or not, Christmas or not… I was done. I went to the car, and I drove the hell home, and when I got here, I poured myself that glass of champagne.

I’m done, or undone. I’ll deal with whatever that means tomorrow. I’m going to knit now.

This is a fast one, since I’m headed for another round of parties today. (Somehow we are roped into thirteen of them this year. I thought it was twelve, but it turns out to be thirteen, and I’m trying not to think about that. I have been reprising my award winning role as “Joe’s Wife” at many of them, and have only been called Mrs. Dunphy once. The ones today won’t have much knitting at them, but things are coming along anyway, I think.

I know those pictures look a lot like the last batch, but the astute among you will note that all three hats are done (only one more hat to go!) and that there is the second sock of the pair, and I don’t care how many parties I have to go to today, there’s just no way that the pair isn’t going to be completed today. (I know, I shouldn’t have said that.) That leaves just one more pair of socks, a pair of slippers, and….. well. A sweater. Still, the worlds top knitwear model has agreed to help do the baking and some of the wrapping tomorrow, and I feel like it’s possible that the light I see at the end of the tunnel might not be a train.

Monday – that’s when I’ll know for sure. Hang in there knitters!

In the spirit of Christmas around here, things are desperate, and I am recklessly optimistic.  I’ve spent the last few days trying to get a grip, and making list after list for Joe, now that he’s back from a brief business trip. (Great timing that, trying not to think about it.) His bag and pockets are littered with notes to get this or get that, and my desk is full of little notes and the spreadsheet is constantly open. It’s all going to come down to one desperate trip to the mall for me, and a few trips for Joe, and then… then there’s the knitting.

Originally I had a (sort of) little sweater, three pairs of socks four hats and a pair of slippers in the queue, and thanks to a really desperate jag of knitting over the last few days (in the stores, at home, on the subway, at meetings) I have managed to finish two and a bit of the hats (if you can tell what they are, don’t give it away.)

A whole pair of big socks (thank all that’s woolly)

and made a good start on the next pair of socks that I’ll carry around with me as I go.

That leaves…one and 4/5 of a hat, the slippers (I should just do those and get them off the list) Just about two pairs of socks (minus that decent start) and the sweater. It all seems not too desperately impossible as long as i don’t think about the shopping, cooking, baking, wrapping or parties… or the date. It’s vitally important that I don’t think about the date. I’m pretty sure I can keep all of these balls in the air as long as I don’t panic early, and I don’t need to know that it might be too late to panic, rather than too soon. I’m just going to keep juggling and knitting and making lists, and hope that it all comes together in the end.

Except for the sweater. That might be crazypants, but it’s just too soon to tell. (Say nothing. I’m a knitter on the edge. This is a time for reassurance.)

How are you doing?

Here I am, out the other side of a really hairy pre-Christmas weekend, and one that went better than it looked like it was going to, considering the state things were in on Thursday afternoon.  The tree got decorated,

the groceries got bought, the cookies all baked, and the whole thing would have gone up in flames if I didn’t have three daughters who know how our little corner of the world works, and executed Operation Gingerbread brilliantly. Everyone was arriving at 6, and shortly before that, I was totally in the weeds. Dinner for 25 half done, none of the furniture rearranged, no icing for the cookies… I’d simply run out of time and me to make it all work, and in stepped The Ladies. They were a Christmas party machine. Samantha made the icing, Amanda coloured it with the littles, all while I said things like “Sam – I’m going to need… ” and she’d jump in with “All the forks, Mum, even the ones from the box. I’ll put them on the table.” Or I’d cast about looking wild and say “Meg… if you could…” and there she’d be. “Make the salad? You bet. The apple one?”

Big hands helped little ones do tasks without being asked, coats were spirited away, glasses of wine appeared in hands as though by magic.  Platters of food were carried to trivets (they even knew to put trivets on the table. It was surreal.) Spills of icing were cheerfully cleaned up with an “I got it Mum!” and the wee ones were supervised, amused and delighted by my darling army of daughters.

When the time came for singing, instruments were snatched up, and they were charming and talented, and robustly sang for the amusement of Luis, Myrie and the others, and it was all the right songs. (Chris and Kosti did well too. Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer was an especially big hit.)

I stood there watching them – all three of them, and I sort of couldn’t believe it. All I could think of was the last two decades of Gingerbread parties, parties where I said things like “Please use your gentle touch with the baby” and “Go practice for your music lesson” and “It’s not that hard to make a salad Megan, please don’t give me that face” or “Cookies are not for throwing” or “Samantha, icing goes on cookies, not walls” or “Go help your grandmother you demon” or “Are you people animals? Get a trivet before you put that hot pot on the table.”  “Amanda, you’re not going out with your friends – tonight is the Gingerbread party, I swear do not make me kill you this close to Christmas – I’ve already bought your damn present.”

All those years. All those corrections, all those reminders… all those times I didn’t kill the bloody lot of them and leave them at the edge of the woods in a shallow grave.

It all payed off as they waltzed gracefully through the party. At the end of the night, I heard someone say that they didn’t know how I did it, and Amanda said “I know. Mum is a machine.” It made me laugh, because after all these years of doing it FOR them…

This year how I did it WAS them. Thanks Ladies.