fruit cake

Sunday. My mother is sad that I have given up coffee.

Saturday was a sick day, Gavin laying upside down on the couch with dual ear infections after throwing up his medicine. Po had a bad time in the litter box and streaked around the house until I chased her down with the enzyme spray and a wet wipe to fix her up. She seems to have eaten too much tinsel. Gavin dumped all his toys on the floor looking for a particular train, then slowly put them back in the basket. "Mom, I can't put them away," he said, "I'm too tired." "Oh, dear, I guess it's time for a nap if you're tired, should we go upstairs?" "No, mom. I'm not that tired. I just changed my mind," he said, putting his toys away again. He fell asleep 10 minutes later on the floor before he could finish. Walking over quietly to pick him up, I stepped on a micro machine, skidded across the floor, tripped on a play set, and fell headlong over Gavin's body onto the couch with a yell. He shot upright, pointing wildly, "Mom, you must be careful!" and fell back asleep in my arms as I brought him up to bed.

My mom came home from class with a fresh pine wreath, apple cider, and chocolate fruit assortment. We watched Love, Actually until we were very sappy and depressed, then broke out the candies and Christmas cartoons. Gavin considered the dialogue. "Why he say that?" "It was supposed to be funny." "But it wasn't." He is correct. In the evening, and I made a rash decision: I am going to make a fruit cake. The kind that is full of liquor and has to age 3 weeks before eating. The first step is underway, I have soaked several cups of raisins, currants, and candied cherries in brandy overnight. Today the cake comes together, and then I will wrap it, seal it, and brush it with brandy every week until Christmas. Why not?