I can’t believe that Christmas is next week. Where did this month go? While I’m asking, where’d the year go?
Time management problems aside, I do love me some holidays. However, Zoe still thinks going outside is awesome. Prolly the double coat she’s sporting. Her newest thang? Hiding among the plants. So the birds will unwittingly fall into her clutches.
Yeah, that’s gonna work. Lemme know how that goes, Z.
But onward, to holiday traditions. I used to get “Mozart balls” from my grandmother every year. I hated the marzipan filling, but always ate one so Grossie wouldn’t feel bad.
Now, of course, I like marzipan. Just like I now like black licorice. (Sorry, Dad.) But what I really like is the Christmas pig. It’s a li’l pig made of almondy stuff that’s supposed to signify health, happiness or somesuch in the coming year. I think eating sugar signifies happiness whenever you happen to be eating it but whatevs.
Most of the marzipan piggies are huge, and though I like marzipan, eating a fistful of the stuff is too much. And then there’s the whole ‘arsenic smells of almond’ thing going on, which makes me worry about ODing on a huge sugar pig. (Hey, you cling to your strange fears, and I’ll cling to mine.)
Then I saw these tiny guys:
Aren’t they cute?
They came in a pack of three; these two stayed with my niece, so she could put them around her gingerbread house. And one came up with me.
We’ll see if he makes it to Christmas.