Dinner was - as is usual at these things - super yummy. Chicken breast and whipped sweet potatoes and a broccoli casserole and salad and fruit salad and my mom's homemade rolls. It was a rough week for some family members - one just had ankle surgery and another has a kitchen remodel - so they purchased rather than made their shares. We brought +Laston Kirkland's Diet Coke, and eggnog and soy nog and southern comfort (because it goes well with nog) and all those little things that our lovely hostess +Cheryl Morton ran low on, like butter and whipped cream and so forth.
We've left milk and cookies for Santa, and carrots for the reindeer ("Make sure there are nine, Mommy, we can't forget Rudolph!"), and I've resolved the contention about whether Santa should be allowed more than two cookies ("Jenn, he's magic, or he couldn't fit through a chimney, much less a keyhole"). I explained that if you figure oh, a billion households on Earth celebrate Christmas in one way or another, and each household gives him two cookies, that's two billion-with-a-b cookies. Not good for anyone. I could just see Abby-the-Whovian thinking about a Slitheen in a Santa skin, so I left it at that.
And now the children are nearly snuggled in their beds (although not asleep; they're watching A Barbie Christmas Carol), and the Hubs is trying to unwind (at his computer, natch), and I've vacuumed (which is more or less fruitless at Chez Gamers' Babes, with the cheap apartment carpet and all. But I tried). The new-fallen snow is grey and damp fog, and Santa uses a keyhole here as we have no chimney.
But to all a good night.