What we get for not doing Santa.

No sweet letters written by the children to request possessions each year from the white bearded, sleigh driving, jolly, cookie gobbling guy in the big red suit inhabiting the North Pole and employing many a flying reindeer with his small pointy eared, green and red clad, talented toy making elf friends. Their mother would like to hold onto such correspondence between her luvbugs and their imaginary friend for years to come, priceless keepsakes from Christmases gone by. But we definitely ruined true, heartfelt letters by letting them in on the little secret.
During school this morning they wrote to God instead. After all, He sees them when they're sleeping, He knows when they're awake, He knows when they've been bad or good for goodness sakes.
Exhibit A: Onyx's
Jayla's:

The kids (in their school uniforms, of course) showcasing the finished products:

I will hold onto them and weep when they get too big to bother with such notes.

It is bitter cold, white and snowy.

We're having these for supper tonight with warm cinnamon raisin bread. (If I don't yank the bread out of the maker first and devour it myself leaving none for my people. I would tell them the incredible smell drove me to do it, and it would be true!) Aren't they cute? I can't remember who linked to them, but I thank you. Because really, everything, (yes, everything) tastes better wrapped in bacon.