Our Christmas Eve traditions went off without a hitch. Yuula loved her Santa pjs, as did Laura and I, who bought each other almost identical sleep pants. Great minds...
Yuula seemed smitten with her ballerina shoes to hang on the tree. She doesn't understand the tradition yet but I'm thinking it does not matter at this point. Sparkly pink things are exciting enough without deeper meaning.
A platter full of carefully chosen cookies (those we had ample to spare) a glass of milk, a carrot for the reindeer and a highly anticipated letter to the man himself. The stage was set and all was left to do was pass the hell out.
For Yuula, anyhow...
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