This weekend was supposed to be about baking shortbread and writing Christmas cards and finishing up our Christmas shopping. It was supposed to be about embracing a season that historically we both struggle to enjoy.
Instead it was a weekend of fevers and chills, homemade chicken noodle soup, and getting out of bed only to don fresh pyjamas and clean linens before climbing right back between the sheets.
We'll find our Christmas spirit, I hope. Somewhere between the peppermint tea and discarded tissues.