I actually had a wish list for Christmas this year, with a single thing on it: I wished for Ingrid to paint a picture for me.

We have two large emptyish walls, and I’ve never found any picture that I’ve felt strongly enough about to want to put there. I was thinking of ordering a Chinese reproduction of some famous painting, and even had an actual shortlist. Then I realized that I have an artist right here in the house, who could make an original work for me, which would be so much more special. Ingrid kindly obliged. I couldn’t be happier with the result.

The wall had been empty for years. Now that there is one painting there, it’s kind of asking for more, isn’t it? Perhaps I can wish for another painting for my birthday.

Ingrid still has long, painful-sounding coughing attacks, but is otherwise back up on her feet and not feeling too unwell. Perky enough to try on all the shoes she’s ordered. She desperately needs winter shoes, gym shoes, and running shoes.

We’ve arrived at that magical moment where Ingrid, Adrian and myself all have more or less the same shoe size. 39 is the magic number. We could all borrow each other’s shoes – if we didn’t have entirely different taste.

Ingrid wears classical sneakers like Vans and Converse, both low and high, mostly in black and white but sometimes also sky blue. She’s interested in shoes in a way the rest of us aren’t, and would gladly buy more shoes only because she likes them, not because she needs them.

Adrian also likes sneakers but values ease of use above other things (except comfort) so he can wear any brand as long as they have a velcro closure and no laces. In practise he ends up wearing black.

I choose shoes in soft leather in warm, deep colours.

Eric is the odd one out with his size 42 feet. Soft leather, like me, but usually black.

Although Adrian is surely bound to end up there as well in a few years. Ingrid’s feet may actually be near her final size, which would be practical because then we could stop buying new winter boots every single year.

Both kids are, quite synchronously, sick since yesterday.

Adrian has an incredibly runny nose and is going through toilet paper by the roll trying to clear it, but is otherwise perky and feeling well.

Ingrid is totally knocked out with fever and a headache, subsisting on water and ibuprofen and half a small bowl of yogurt.

I very much hope I don’t catch whatever they have because I have a Lucia thingy with tretton37 on Monday as well as a Christmas dinner with Urb-it. I feel hopeful because it wouldn’t be the first time, by far, for the kids to be sick while Eric and I escape with no symptoms. Our immune systems have had a few extra decades of practice, after all.

We promised Adrian a visit to his favourite restaurant, Ri Cora, for his birthday. Which was nearly 3 months ago.

First we were going to do it when we were in town anyway for Forever Piaf, but left it until too late with the booking so we didn’t get a table. Then we had a similar booking problem a few weeks later: just when we had agreed a day and time that worked for all of us, and I was about to press the button, the last few available tables got booked right as I was looking at it. And then there were weekends with other things in the way.

Now finally we made a new attempt and I was surprised to find tables for the same evening. Which works great, because Adrian’s school has a study day for staff tomorrow, so he doesn’t need to get up on time, so it’s OK if he’s a bit tired afterwards.

Ri Cora is Adrian’s absolute favourite restaurant because of the limitless egg rolls and dumplings he can eat. Ingrid also loves it, although she samples the buffet more widely, and prefers sushi to most dumplings.

The buffet has been completely unchanged for the last three or four years. Nothing changes, not even which fresh fruit they serve (melon, watermelon, pineapple, grapes, strawberries), or the ice cream flavours (blueberry, melon, Oreo, plus one I’ve forgotten), or the “season’s roast vegetables” which are always potatoes, sweet potatoes, sweetcorn and broccoli, completely regardless of the actual season. But predictable also means reliable, and the staff are always attentive and friendly, and make sure the buffet is fresh and clean and filled up. While I wouldn’t want to eat there very often, it’s a pretty decent place, as buffets go.

Ingrid has been home sick with a fever and a cough since Thursday. (Not covid.) Spends most of her time sleeping. Doesn’t even have the energy to draw, or to hang out with her friends online. TikTok is about the only thing she can do, and she’s getting tired of it.

Did I mention the cat getting comfortable here?

I wonder what its family thinks about its long absences.

Ingrid’s braces are in place and her whole mouth hurts and she cannot bite or chew. Ice cream, soups and smoothies are the only things she can eat.

We carved pumpkins.

Ingrid is the artistically inclined one in the family and has spent hours not just drawing and painting but intentionally practising both. Unsurprisingly she took this way more seriously than I did. She created something with actual artistic merit, whereas I just went for a low-effort design. But honestly I was mostly here to get the project started and provide some company. I think I spent more time with my camera than with the knife.

Adrian drew a toothy design that he then realized he wouldn’t be able to realize, which upset him. He went off to his room for a while to calm down and finished his carving later, on his own and in peace and quiet.

Ingrid has crooked teeth. She’s old enough to start fixing them, with adult teeth all in place where needed. (Except for one baby tooth which she’ll get to keep for life, because there’s no adult tooth developing underneath it. I had no idea this was a thing, but now I know.)

Her teeth are too many for her jaw and simply can’t fit, so the first step is to remove some. To me, pulling out teeth feels like a very drastic step, but the orthodontist was very sure and very convincing about this. So today Ingrid had two teeth pulled out.

I’ve never removed any teeth. All I’ve seen is dozens of baby teeth – both my own, decades ago, and now Ingrid’s and Adrian’s. Lost baby teeth are just nubs, but Ingrid’s two teeth have substantial roots. I hadn’t pictured them as being so long.

They’re a bit bloody so I’m hiding the image from any squeamish readers. Just click this text to view it.

Ingrid and I went out for sushi and treated ourselves to ridiculous passion fruit drinks.