We've had a wonderful week.
A week full of Roman trying to escape from his nappy, brushing his teeth, growing out of clothes and fitting into the next size up. A week full of storms and rain. Of darkness by 3.30pm. Another week down until Christmas, until my birthday.
You always gave me such great birthdays, with rich chocolate cake and crisps (err, not together.) With my birthday being on Christmas Eve it always felt separate to Christmas - I don't know how you pulled that off.
We ventured out today and it was so much fun - all the Christmas lights were up in town (along with a big tree) and we were all kept warm by our hats, scarves and gloves. I was shopping for Bryan's stocking - which is more of a challenge than you'd imagine, but I am so excited to hand it over on Christmas day - and I had an overwhelming memory of Christmases past. Of stockings stuffed full of treats. Is that shallow, to remember the stuffed stocking?
It was never really the quantity - or quality - of the stocking, but more the little surprises I'd find inside. One year it was a sweet making kit and when I was 22 it was the shiny new purse with the shiny new 20p inside, with the year's date on it. It was the way you knew what I'd like so well. And now you've passed that skill onto me.