When we woke up on Sunday, we had a plan. For me, Sunday would be filled with various household tasks and a helping of nieces and nephews at their Christmas cantata. For Hubby, the day would include wrapping some pipes with insulation and starting wiring the new bathroom. For Powderkeg (aka Toddler-tron), it would be a day of running around the house, redecorating as desired, and singing along at the Christmas program. And, of course, we were all set to attend early Mass together.

Until, that is, I realized Powderkeg was running a pretty high temperature.

So we did what anyone would do: we split Mass (he went early, I went late – and there’s a whole post in me about the impact of that later Mass, but, fair readers, perhaps you don’t need to read my rantings and observations on that!), and we spent the day cuddling our strangely listless toddler.

Funny how we ended up getting a day of rest, though we certainly hadn’t planned it that way. Funny how that day of rest, even with a whiny-when-she-was-awake kiddo, was far better than crossing things off our list. Funny how my cup overflows and God keeps adding to it.