Oh, boo, I’m too tired to not be boring, and I hate being boring. Extended-family holiday party this weekend, which we haven’t been able to do for several years (Because Pandemic) and it was a pleasure to fall back on old routines. We made the trip to Long Island by train with a tray of brownies on our lap, Declan played foosball with his cousins, the grownups all traded small holiday gifts, and before it was all over we did a giant Twelve Days of Christmas sing-a-long complete with signs that have been in the family for so long that I recognize the old Apple IIe Print Shop font. (I can never remember all the parts of the song, and I am not alone in that, so the signs are good for cueing which are the ladies dancing and which are the lords a-leaping. Also the French Hens are penguins.) It’s kitschy but good, and it feels good to watch my kid take swings at a pinata in the same room where six years ago he stretched out on the floor underfoot and played with hand-me-down toy trucks.