Although we skipped our usual trek to the tree farm to cut our own tree and instead opted for a pre-cut one, we continued our tradition of the 12 days of Starbucks (and even stretched it to 13 14 15 days), and Abby joined in this year with her own little steamed milk. We had family visit us, and we visited family. We took both kids to the festival of lights – this time Abby actually even seemed to enjoy it, and Evelyn at least stayed awake for it. We hung mistletoe (“kissletoe”) and stood under it every chance we got.

Abby seranaded us for days with her rendition of Jingle Bells. We ate chestnuts. We drank eggnog. Evelyn seemed to enjoy her first Christmas, particularly the lights on our tree. Charles bought me another little baby bird to celebrate the addition of Evelyn to our family.

Charles also continued his tradition of buying me a garden gnome, although he insists that it was just a coincidence that he bought me a gnome last year as well, and that two years in a row does not a tradition make. While last year’s gnome (the white one below) certainly is unique, it is a gnome by name, so I think it counts. Maybe he’s just afraid that he has started something he doesn’t really want to finish. Or I guess more precisely something he’s afraid that I will never finish. My gnome count may be at three, but my “garden ornament” count is much (much) higher.

Maybe “Santa” will bring me another gnome next year. Three years in a row must make a tradition, right?

We visited family and friends and were spoiled by their gifts. We drank eggnog and rum and filled our bellies with roasted chestnuts (done in the oven, but still delicious). I enjoyed my Christmas Fanta (the Orange flavour that you can’t usually get in Canada). We watched our pug card tree fill up with cards from around the world. We continued our tradition of the “12 days of Starbucks”.

We took Abby to see the festival of lights at the city park and sipped hot cider as we wandered among the displays. Out Boxing Week shopping, she suddenly decided she would like to walk everywhere (but hold onto our hands as she does). We took her sledding in the backyard. She also took a few spins around the house in her new box.

I had a bubble bath for the first time in probably a year. We embraced our inner couch potatos with a Twilight-a-thon and got sucked into marathon showings of American Pickers, Auction Kings, and Auction Hunters, which made me want to purge the house of unneeded items and then go to an auction to fill it all up again. In between we discovered Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog, which just made me miss Buffy.

The best moment, though, was on Christmas Day, when Abby spontaneously hugged her one-week old cousin (and then thankfully did it again once I had the camera in hand).

Now, anyone who knows me is saying “This is just occurring to you now?!?” but what I mean is that the addiction might be a bit worse than I originally thought. I know I don’t talk much about the ‘bucks here, but if you follow me on Twitter, you will know that my Chai Latte and I are good friends. Very good friends. In fact, the only disagreement we have is that it doesn’t come in a size larger than Venti.

Well, that and the somewhat lacking service that we get sometimes. And I’m kind of a stickler for service. Treat me poorly as a customer, and I will walk. We cancelled our tv service because of poor customer service. I switched ISPs because of poor customer service (and then switched again when we cancelled our TV as they were also our ISP). I’ve blacklisted restaurants (for years in come cases) over poor customer service. The entire Tim Horton’s chain was blacklisted after a few too many mistakes.

But Starbucks seems to have a pass, even though they routinely mess up our orders. And we are routinely coming up with ways to “help” them help us. I have actually even considered, ever so briefly, changing my order to make it easier for them. My latest idea: go in with pre-marked sleeves that I can just hand to them so that they just need to fill the cup accordingly. No fuss, no muss. No water in my Chai.

Perhaps I am just actually embracing our year of Zen?

My value as a blogger? Probably not high given my frequency (which as we know is infrequent).

My value as a maid is definitely zilch. I’m pretty good at making messes, not so good at cleaning them up, particularly when baking – I’m a catastrophe then. Cooking is only marginally better. Luckily we have a housekeeper who comes in every two weeks to set our house in order.

Facebook tells me that I have 96 friends, so I guess 96 people value me as a friend, or at least want to use me to pad their friends list.

This site sets my Twitter value at $24. That’ll buy you about four Venti Chai Lattes and two lemon loafs, with a bit of change to spare. Or one very nice skein of yarn.

Some people might set my value by how much money I make, but right now I make no money. Actually now all I do is spend money (groceries, bills, baby), so does that assign me a negative value? On Judgement Day, will I be handed a bill showing my balance owing?

How about my value as a mother? As a wife? As a daughter, sister, sister-in-law? As a friend? There are so many ways you can compartmentalize your value and come up seemingly lacking by looking at only one segment.

There is a quote by Michel de Montaigne: “The value of life is not in the length of days, but in the use we make of them; a man may live long yet very little.”

I like that way best.