"Happy Xmas!"

With two kids down with the flu, zero sleep for several nights in a row (what's up with Santa's elves these days?) and an ambitious three day Xmas marathon planned with the family, this could have easily gone south.

Peta, who has sworn off Xmas for good reasons, had let me know early on that no questions would be asked if I showed up on her door steps in blood stained PJs, with a butcher knife in my hands and a crazed look on my face. Really, she said, any time.

But no asylum was necessary (although hanging out with my reformed friend is something I rarely pass up). All was cool. In fact, it was a lot of fun. Zoë was in top form, playing fiddle tunes and singing raunchy xmas carols. My mom was as witty as ever and I, for a change, kept my trap zipped. No blood was shed.

And so, we had a really good time, a "Happy Christmas." And reckless as we tend to be, we may end up doing it again. Just not this year.