We left Erin’s Christmas morning and headed home with my having been given the gift from Emma that keeps on giving—an intestinal grunge. So, it’s now after 2:30 in the afternoon the day after Christmas, and I am actually in a semi-vertical position, digested three slices of dry bread, and a half glass of flat Coke Zero. Put on the party shoes, it’s time to dance…

James Brown died, but I’ll bet heaven is having one heck of a rocking time. Actually, I’m giggling just thinking of God boogeying with James, and the angels all jostling for position in some line dance.

One of our gifts to Emma was a Cabbage Patch newborn baby. Since she’s going to be a big sister this July, I figured it was time to get her used to seeing someone smaller than she is, even if it remains totally mute when you hold it by its foot and drag it behind you. The baby came in one of those baby trays and equipped with a bottle which did not open. Emma, being the Mensa genius that she is, tried to open the bottle. But then proceeded to feed her baby by placing the nipple of the bottle in the baby’s right eye. Okay, so we still have a few months to work out the snafus.

Well, I think I’ve exhausted myself. My system seems to be gurgling its rebellion, and my headache is gathering troops for another assault. Ho Ho Ho.