We attended the "Baby Jesus" mass at my parents' parish on Christmas Eve; the church was packed and we celebrated via "live feed" in an overflow room. The Wog and The Doodle enjoyed themselves nonetheless. Bell-ringing and caroling are always a hit with The Wog.
Afterwards, we attended Shrimpgate 2007 AKA Dinner at a Local Restaurant that Claimed to Have Run Out of Shrimp, but in Actuality Not Only Had Shrimp, but Had Giant, Delicious (Or So We Overheard from the Exclamations of Overjoyed Diners at Adjacent Tables) Ones. In time, we'll all look back and laugh, but for now the memory of The Shrimpmare Before Christmas is just too painful.
The Wog looked tres chic (but also, somehow, like a sad little beggar girl) in her outfit:
Preparing to beg for spare change. Or prawns. (Shrimpless! And on Christmas! I'll be sure to put up a Paypal button for those wishing to make a donation...):
The Doodle couldn't care less about crustaceans (or lackthereof), but did care about snuggling with Aunt MB:
Shrimp shortage scandal jokes aside, we had a wonderful night, and continue to enjoy and expand our Christmas Eve traditions (from setting the table for the next day's festive meal to one gift--jammies, of course!--before bedtime to baking a special treat for Santa) with Minnie, Pop-Pop and Aunt MB.
When we returned home that night, we set out our "homemade" (straight from the slice-and-bake tube, that is) cookies and water (which The Wog insisted Santa would prefer) for our anticipated midnight guest, and headed merrily off to our beds with visions of sugarplums--or shellfish, as the case may be--dancing in our heads.
The moral of this Christmas Story (up there with "You'll shoot your eye out"): Don't count your shrimp before they are hatched! (I just couldn't resist one last one...)