I find that the first days of January are always miserable ones. I am not talking about January first (well, that depends on drinking quantities the night before) but about the days around January 6th. It's where you realise that life is indeed going to go on, and reality is waiting just around the corner, and that somehow everyone seemed to embrace it and are already talking Easter plans when you are still not sure how to set the alarm clock again. I found myself last night standing in front of the boy's wardrobe trying desperately to remember what Ron needs for football club. I was unsuccessful. Than again as it turns out, clubs starts next week. The funny thing is, I actually waited for these days. As fun as Christmas was (and it was plenty fun) there is something comforting about the routine. I missed my quiet time when the boys are at school, I missed being able to walk freely around the house without fear of knocking down yet another Christmas ornament, I even missed eating reasonable quantities of normal food instead of what felt like an unending chocolate feast for the last two weeks.