Earlier in December, Daughter 2 came for the weekend and we iced the cakes. I make two big ones: one for us (because usually there are a lot of people eating it) and then I cut the other into two halves, one half for Son (because Daughter-in-Law doesn't like fruit cake) and the other half for Daughter 1 and Son-in-Law 1 (I may have to rethink this half-cake policy since there are now four of them). Daughter 2, living in London and having to carry presents home on the train and having a diabetic husband, doesn't get one at all, which I think I should also rethink. Anyway. My icing is a slapdash affair: above, cut-out stars...
... and above, for cat-fans Son and DIL, rather messy cats.
But Daughter 2, the architect, spent rather more time on Daughter 1's cake, designing an alpine village for Grandson's benefit. It had chalets, trees, road sign poles, roads with white lines made out of sugar strands, a roundabout...
Then, after our sepulchrally-quiet Christmas, the family (and Son-in-Law 1's parents) were all here by New Year, which was lovely. The grandchildren opened their presents from us and were extremely excited but also very good.
Here, Daughter 1 holds up hexagonal cookie cutters, with which she was delighted because it means that you can cut out the biscuits without leaving any extra bits that you have to mash together and roll out again. Cunning.
And yesterday Mr L, Son, Daughter 2, DIL and I went out for a walk. Then the younger ones all went home. Sniff.
Now I must go and de-Christmas the house, a horrible task. Sulk.
Happy New Year, all bloggy friends.