Well, tomorrow.

What we affectionately refer to as the French invasion begins tomorrow, when our daughter and younger grandson arrive for Christmas. Today there will be a certain amount of bustle as beds are changed, the house is cleaned, flowers are refreshed and we stock up on coffee for our daughter, and bake Christmas cookies for boys.

Also the dog hair must be vacuumed from the back seat of the big car. And Eli, who is responding to the warm winter in true long-hair fashion (he is half long-hair), is blowing his coat. He will need to be taken out to the orchard and brushed. Brushing him near the house makes visitors suspect we’ve had some kind of massacre of enormous bunnies.

I still cannot find the fragile glass icicle ornaments I pack away so carefully each year. Most annoying. They add such a magical shimmer to the tree. And, of course, our appliance debacle continued yesterday, on our first cold day in weeks, when our five year old furnace motor found a dark spot. Whatever that means. I am hoping the new part arrives today.

Meanwhile, only three days of school left for our long-term visiting grandson. Last night he meticulously wrote thank-you notes to all his teachers, and together we put bows and gift tags on his Christmas gifts. He will return home with his family before the new year.

All the bustle is fun and carries the requisite note of Christmas cheer. But there is cooking to be done, and wrapping, and still a few elements of shopping. Ah, and all the bed linens to be washed.

Speaking of cheer, there is one other note of preparation for the coming festivities: A case of champagne and the big bottle of whiskey.

By the end of the night, grandma may require a wee dram.

In any case, she will have earned it.

Update:

My husband, upon reading the above: “You have started calling yourself ‘Grandma’ and referring to yourself in the third person?…Also, where’s this whiskey?”