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Look at me updating on Christmas Eve itself! Truly I am a paragon of updatery!

Got word from one of the anthology editors I wrote "Our Stars, Our Selves" for that she really likes it, so that's good. Also got some expected writing money, which will make, er, the IRS happy, I guess, since I should give it all to them for my quarterly taxes in January. Not the most fun use of funds, but better than not having the dough, I suppose.

Also got the glasses I ordered from, and I gotta say, I'm impressed -- they came quickly, they work right, and they seem just as nice as my old pair (which I paid WAY more for). I'd been putting off getting much-needed new glasses (my old ones are all blotchy and scratchy) because we're poor, but I figured I'd take a risk on the internet for the cost of a Thai delivery dinner. Glad I did.

The baby woke at 6:30 a.m. for some terrible reason; he may have had a bad dream, as he was pretty freaked out. I coaxed him back into bed with a cup of milk and a nightlight and warm blankets, and he chilled out for another 20 minutes or so, but then he was ready To Be Up.

Fortunately I had errands to run anyway, and he accompanied me to the grocery store (which was pretty busy for not-yet-eight-a.m.!) for a few last-minute necessaries (dinner rolls, diapers, etc.). Then we headed over the Post Office to pick up some packages from my Dad (who always sends the Christmas candy of my childhood; yay Dad!). We were there ten minutes before the pickup window opened, maybe sixth in line. Two-year-olds do not traditionally do really well with lines, but the kid was pretty cheerful, pointing out all the doors, and windows, and stairs, and naming the colors of things. He drew the attention of the cute brunette in line in front of us, and her friendliness also served to distract him. (He acted all shy and bashful, which she found adorable. Works every time.)

And he only tried to crawl in through the pickup window three or four times.

We got our packages, returned home, woke up my lovely wife, and then I made the traditional Anderson family holiday breakfast: eggs, cheese, and sausage all scrambled up together.

(A note on surnames: though mine is Pratt, and my wife and son are Shaws, my family growing all had the surname Anderson -- my siblings are technically half-siblings, and my Dad is technically my stepdad, but he and mom got together when I was 5 or 6 years old, so he's always just been Dad. I kept Mom's maiden name. See why I didn't care to pass on the Pratt name to my son? Nobody else in any of my family Venn Diagrams has it, except my maternal grandfather, who I've met exactly once that I recall, when I was a teenager.)

Heather had just scrambled eggs. River had scrambled eggs and then some of Heather's scrambled eggs and then some of my scrambled eggs and cheese. He's ravenous lately. Delicious, and artery-clogging, and it's probably good I only really crave it once a year.

It's been a fairly lazy Christmas Eve. Played with the kid, took a nap, snuggled with my wife, played video games, re-read a Terry Pratchett novel (not Hogfather, though that would've been more seasonably appropriate), etc. Heather took the kid up to her sister-in-law's (AKA The Ranch) to visit his cousin, grandma, etc. I hung out here with the intention of doing something productive but, uh, writing this journal entry is as close to productive as I've come.

But that's okay. It's a holiday. Hope you're all having a happy day!

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