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And a very merry

It’s merely the afternoon of Christmas Eve, and we are, incomprehensibly, done: presents are wrapped, cornbread is baked in preparation for tomorrow’s oyster dressing, gifts have been shipped and (nick-of-time) received, charity undertaken. I can’t believe there’s time for the luxury to write, to cut out more cookies with small floured hands, to lay with…

Jingle Hell

Later this week, Michael and I will have our five-year anniversary, and a week after that, Eliot will turn four. (Yeah, go ahead and do the fucking math, Smugley. We were in love, that socially acceptable form of insanity.) So what that means is that after several years of catastrophic missteps, this year we have…