7QT - - antibiotics, merriment and fudge.

We are drowning over here in twice-daily doses of Augmentin and Boudreaux's Butt Paste--except the latter is more like eight daily smearings. Poor Amby has another ear infection needing antibiotics, and consequentially, has what seems like non-stop sad, poopy diapers. The medicine is almost worse than the sickness. I wonder if when kids get older, they start to coast, to have stretches of health that last more than a whole 12 hours before another cold, stomach bug or rash begin. I write that while looking at myself with raised eyebrows--yes, Mary, go ahead and complain about your kids' ear infection, while many families have kids with real life/death problems. Go ahead and whine.

But I feel that at the root of my displeasure with this current ailment for Amb is the knowledge that he's the one suffering, he's the one with an angry, stinging bottom, he's the one who might have to get tubes in his little ears. And I can do very little about it except clean him and hold him. Being a mother is being the helpless hero to your babies--they think you can do anything, you know you can do very little. Therein lies the rub.

On to brighter things: It's Della Robbia time.

My Mother the Merry Maker sends me a fresh Della Robbia wreath each year. Happiness in a box. And it's the best-smelling box you'll ever get in the mail, to boot.

I'm in love with their illustrated wreath, to say nothing of the actual contents of the box.

It arrived yesterday and will easily last through January. Love.

Baby, it's cold outside. Really, really cold. Oh wait, no--I just checked my weather widget and right now it's a balmy 19 degrees. Tonight's when it will get really cold, just 3 whole degrees. Better go buy a duraflame before the sun sets at, oh, ya know, 3:45 p.m.

I'm gearing up for our upcoming Christmas flights. I do this by strapping myself and the boys to the couch for 90 minutes at a time and spilling apple juice everywhere, then apologizing profusely to the armchairs and coffee table, thanking them for putting up with us. Kidding! Kind of!

St. Nicholas Day report. We did "the shoe thing" last night for the first time. It might take us a few more years to perfect our form. Joe got up this morning and ran to check his shoes, then cried that there wasn't enough candy to fill up each shoe. Joe! Missing the point buddy! At least Amby didn't choke himself on a candy cane. That's more or less a success.

Nineteen months. I had 19 months of bliss until someone gained enough dexterity to do this:

 I often find him thumbing through my contacts. So if I haven't called *you* in a while, I might have *lost* your number.

In anticipation of an upcoming gluten-free goodness post on Christmas desserts, I give you No Fail Fudge. I'm planning on making it on Christmas Eve for my sister who's on a dairy-free diet. A gem in the recipe description:
While this recipe is called “no fail” it is not impossible to make it fail.
 So. It's pretty much... just... "Fudge."

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