Nurture

So, the very belated Finch Family Christmas allowed for my sister to create a devil-traitor-demon of my youngest daughter.  "THE pillow" of many elephant gifts past resurfaced in my closet via conspiracy of Aunt Remy and Bay; and the girl now LIKES the pillow (that's the devil-demon part) and actually wants to sleep on it tonight!  Oh, the pain!

HOWEVER, it also bred that wonderful feeling of nurture -- family, food, and these great gifts, which I am enjoying tonight (and/or in the morning -- yes, in this order):

LOVE Galena Cellars wine -- sweet, smooth, yummy!  I know, this clearly gives away that I am not a connoisseur, because fancy expert people like the dry stuff  . .  .  and they don't call wine "yummy." 

Seriously, people.  When we had the luxury of a night at The Drake in Chicago I could not stop talking about how totally awesome the pillows were.  I copied down the company info from the tag before we left and later stuck the note in my "wish list" file.  Feathers on the inside, down in the outer portion.  It smooshes luxuriously without flattening.  The awesomest pillow ever.  (Stop laughing; I do have a file -- for everything.  Come on, our moms start Christmas shopping in January -- for the next year -- and

we are expected to give them ideas; I draw a blank otherwise.  And if I'm not sounding any

more sane, then, well, I have cool pillow and you probably don't.  Or maybe you do. 

But, well, blptblpt (childish spitty-stick-out-tongue noise).

And, ahhhh -- an alarm that will wake me with a chosen nature sound instead of that heart-startling, horrid, nasty BEEP - BEEP - BEEP - BEEP that has been the bane of my existence.  I know, either my life is pretty cush, or I just need to step back the melodrama.

Anyway, I'm tickled with these little pampering items, even if they came (via super sly ninja kin) with an evil dose of blue-needle-pointed-gold-stitched-icon pillow.  And if I was Oprah, you'd each have all of these lovely items brought to you by my people in elf costumes.  But I'm not.  I don't have people.  Or costumes  .  .  .  unless a really bad '80's prom dress -- hi-low style hemline, puffy Napoleon D. sleeves -- in teal green counts as "costume."  Bad images of the past will have to wait for another post, another day.  My wine glass is empty -- time to smoosh to sleep on a pillowcase of heaven.