At least it carries my love, dear, and my wishes that every Christmas under your own roof will be happier than the preceding one.

Since your starting point is on the high level of your first Christmas in your own home--that's a good wish: isn't it?
I'm beginning to think a good deal of your mother and me.

Here we are left alone by every one of you--in a foreign land; and, contrary to all predictions that any of you would have made about us four or five years ago, we're faring pretty well, thank you, and not on the edge of dying of loneliness at all.

I tell you, I think we're pretty brave and hardy.
We're even capable of becoming cocky and saucy to every one of you.
Be careful, then.
You see if you have a war to live with you don't necessarily need children: you'll have strife enough without 'em.

We'll console ourselves with such reflections as these.
And the truth is--at least about me--that there isn't time to think of what you haven't got.