Mistletoe and Marmalade (Encore)

Summary

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Nothing Much Happens: Bedtime Stories to Help You Sleep

Episode: Mistletoe and Marmalade (Encore)

Host: Kathryn Nicolai
Date: December 11, 2025

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Episode Overview

In this encore episode of "Nothing Much Happens," Kathryn Nicolai shares “Mistletoe and Marmalade”—a gentle, cozy story about holiday decorating, family (both human and furry), and the small but meaningful moments that bring comfort and warmth. As always, the main purpose is to guide listeners towards relaxation and restful sleep through calming narrative and familiar, soothing scenes.

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Key Discussion Points & Narrative Highlights

1. Setting the Intention and Ritual ([03:32]–[04:31])

• Kathryn welcomes listeners, reinforces the ritual aspect of the podcast, and gently guides them through a relaxation cue, reminding,

  “We are going to train your brain to settle and respond to this cue with sleep. It’s something that improves with practice.” ([03:04], Kathryn)

• She encourages patience for new listeners and emphasizes comfort and the importance of receiving it, leading a brief breathing exercise.

2. Introductions & Family Dynamics ([04:31]–[06:09])

• Story introduces a blended family during their first Christmas together, which includes:
  • The narrator, her ginger cat Marmalade, scruffy dog Crumb
  • Her partner and his greyhound, Birdie
• Sentiments of newness and familiarity in relationships:

  “In some ways, it felt like we’d been together for ages, and in others, it all felt brand new.” ([05:51], Kathryn)

3. Discovering Each Other ([06:09]–[07:19])

• The joys of learning new things about loved ones, e.g., her partner’s love for tabletop RPGs and chili varieties, her own handyman skills:

  “I had a feeling that this was one of the joys of loving someone for a long time. Realizing that there was always more to learn about them.” ([07:12], Kathryn)

• Everyday surprises between partners and shared laughter

4. Animal Companions’ Behaviors ([07:19]–[09:21])

• Quirky morning routines due to pets’ personalities (Birdie grazes, Crumb “scarfing” two breakfasts)
• Marmalade’s independent, affectionate nature; her priority rituals and subtle affection for the other animals

5. Decorating for the Holidays ([09:21]–[13:18])

• The family embarks on a fun, somewhat chaotic search for Christmas decorations throughout the house
• Tree placed in front of the window—debate between white and colored lights (narrator’s pick wins)
• Ornaments spark storytelling: cherished family mementos, homemade craft pieces

  “Here was the ornament made of popsicle sticks and cotton balls, heat glued together in kindergarten, unrecognizable as any particular thing but cherished just the same.” ([11:08], Kathryn)

6. Animal Curiosity and Play ([11:52]–[13:18])

• Marmalade investigates a green glass bulb, and receives a felt mouse ornament to play with instead, leading to a playful chase
• Prompt decision to move breakable ornaments higher, for pet safety

7. Cozy Moments & Togetherness ([13:25]–[15:25])

• Crumb and the snow globe:

  “A tinny version of the Christmas song played as he watched the suspended snowflakes slowly drift down over a little house not so different from our own.” ([13:41], Kathryn)

• Narrator hums along, makes a playful pun:

  “To pups from 1 to 92, though it’s been said many times, many ways, meowy Christmas to you.” ([14:05], Kathryn)

• Partner’s chuckle from the kitchen—shared joy in simple pleasures, and celebration of each other's quirks

8. Birdie and the Sweater ([15:17]–[16:31])

• Birdie receives and tolerates a festive “ugly Christmas sweater,” despite mild indignation:

  “He looked at me with consternation and despair, but I told him at least I wasn’t making him wear his antlers yet.” ([15:35], Kathryn)

• Culminates with partner presenting makeshift “mistletoe” (actually bay leaves and berries) for a sweet, impromptu romantic gesture:

  “He squatted down beside me and whispered, it’s mistletoe. I’m pretty sure these are bay leaves from the spice drawer. Hmm. They may still work, though.” ([16:15], Kathryn and Partner)

9. Story Repeats in Slower Pace ([16:43]–[30:31])

• The story is told again, in Kathryn’s slower, softer voice, allowing the calming details and gentle humor to flow once more—helping listeners drift more naturally toward sleep.
• Each heartwarming vignette is revisited: animals’ antics, ornament memories, playfulness, and sweet partner moments.

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Notable Quotes & Memorable Moments

• “I had a feeling this was one of the joys of loving someone for a long time. Realizing that there was always more to learn about them.” ([07:12])
• “To pups from 1 to 92, though it’s been said many times, many ways, meowy Christmas to you.” ([14:05])
• “He looked at me with consternation and despair, but I told him at least I wasn’t making him wear his antlers yet.” ([15:35])
• “He squatted down beside me and whispered, it’s mistletoe. I’m pretty sure these are bay leaves from the spice drawer. Hmm. They may still work, though.” ([16:15])

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Important Segment Timestamps

• [03:32] – Rituals and sleep cue introduction
• [04:31] – Story Theme: “Mistletoe and Marmalade”
• [05:03] – Blended family holiday preparations
• [09:33] – Decorating and ornament stories
• [11:52] – Marmalade’s playful curiosity
• [13:41] – Crumb and the snow globe moment
• [15:35] – Birdie in his Christmas sweater
• [16:15] – Improvised mistletoe and romantic gesture
• [16:43 – 30:31] – Full story retold, slower pace for sleep

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Tone & Atmosphere

Kathryn’s voice is gentle and soothing, with a touch of quiet humor and loving observation. The tone is never hurried—every detail, interaction, and memory is offered as a small comfort, designed to evoke safety, nostalgia, and warmth. Listeners are invited to let go and rest, guided by sensory-rich storytelling in a peaceful, accepting environment.

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Perfect for anyone needing reassurance, cozy comfort, or just a calm, happy place to drift off. Sweet dreams.

Transcript

[A]

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[B]

Welcome to Bedtime Stories for Everyone in which nothing Much Happens. You feel good, and then you fall asleep.

[A]

I'm Kathryn Nicolai. I write and read all the stories you hear on Nothing Much Happens. Audio engineering is by Bob Wittersheim.

We are bringing you an encore episode tonight. Meaning that this story originally aired at some point in the past. It could have been recorded with different equipment in a different location. And since I'm a person and not a computer, I sometimes sound just slightly different. But the stories are are always soothing and family friendly and our wishes for you are always deep rest and sweet dreams.

[B]

Now, just by listening to the story I have to tell you, by letting your mind follow along with the sound of my voice.

We are going to train your brain to settle and respond to this cue with sleep. It's something that improves with practice. Well, what doesn't? So be patient if you are new to this. Most listeners report that within two to three weeks of regular use, they fall asleep. Within the first few minutes of the show.

They are already sleeping and soon you will be too. I'll tell the story twice, a little slower the second time through.

Now lights out. Snuggle down my friend. It's all about comfort. Now.

Allow yourself to receive this comfort.

It is okay to rest now.

You don't need to hold on to anything.

Take a deep breath in through your nose.

And sigh from your mouth.

Nice. Do it one more time. Breathe in.

And out.

Good.

Our story tonight is called Mistletoe and Marmalade, and it's a story about decorating for the holidays with the whole family.

It's also about birds at the feeder, ornaments made in kindergarten that still make it onto the tree.

The ways that love can surprise you, and a greyhound in a Christmas sweater.

Mistletoe and marmalade.

It was our first Christmas together.

Well, we'd had Christmases as friends, plenty of them, and a Christmas in the early days of falling in love.

But this was our first Christmas as a married couple, as a blended family.

There was me, my ginger cat, Marmalade, my scruffy brown dog, Crumb.

And now my love and his sleepy giant greyhound, Birdie.

In some ways, it felt like we'd been together for ages, and in others, it all felt brand new.

I'd known how he took his coffee, no milk, a spoonful of sugar.

And I knew his taste in music and the story behind the old green corduroy jacket he'd had since college. But I was completely surprised by his passion for tabletop RPGs, a near encyclopedic knowledge of the history and flavor profiles of many, many varieties of chilies.

I think I had surprised him.

When I'd replaced the sconces in the bedroom with some vintage ones I'd rebuilt and rewired. He joyfully flicked the switch off and on several times.

Admitting that this was well above his skill set and that it seemed like magic to him.

I had a feeling that this was one of the joys of loving someone for a long time.

Realizing that there was always more to learn about them.

The animals had also learned more, for example, that Birdie liked to graze and didn't usually eat his breakfast all at once.

Once Crum realized there was a second breakfast available, just one bowl over, he'd scarf his own and then dive into birdies. This had led to a somewhat complicated morning routine involving shooing Crumb out into the yard as soon as he'd finished his last kibble and convincing Bird to go on and clean his plate. But most days we managed it.

Marmalade, as usual, took it all in stride.

She had priorities. She needed to lay on her perch and watch the birds at the feeder. She needed several naps to bathe her paws and face and have some uninterrupted one on one time with me.

And whether there was one dog chasing his tail or two while she did it, she didn't much care.

I knew some of her disaffected nature was put on. She liked to appear a bit above her brothers.

But I'd also seen her bathe both of their faces when they'd come back from their checkups at the vet.

And on movie night. Her favorite spot was right between them, her chin resting on Bird's back and her back paw stretched out to touch Crumb's belly.

We were a happy little pack heading into the holidays, and decorating had been a good deal of fun for all of us.

I wasn't a very organized person, so when it came time to gather together all the bulbs and strands of light and little houses for the Christmas village.

We'D had to troop up to the attic, down into the basement, route through the garage, and dig under the bed. But eventually we found nearly everything.

Our tree went up in the living room, right in front of the big picture window.

Where it could be seen from the street.

There was a moment of contention while we debated white lights versus colored lights, but luckily my sweetheart realized I'd made a very convincing argument and my pick were strung up.

As we hung up bulbs and ornaments, some from my collection and some from his, we told the stories of them.

Here was the bulb my mom had been gifted the year I was born.

With the date still etched on the side and the crack that had been carefully glued after I'd pulled the tree down when I was three.

Here was the ornament made of popsicle sticks and cotton balls, heat glued together in kindergarten, unrecognizable as any particular thing but cherished just the same.

As we decorated, the animals watched a bit nervously from their beds.

Boxes were often regarded with suspicion by all of them.

Things were either coming in or going out.

And they weren't sure they approved of either.

Finally, Marmalade, bravest of the three, tiptoed up to the tree and reached a paw out toward a green glass bulb.

I could see her curious eyes reflected in the surface, and whether she broke the bulb or not, I thought I was likely to remember this moment for years to come.

Her wonder at it, the glow of the tree lights through the fur of her ears.

She batted it experimentally, and I squatted down beside her and replaced it with a felted mouse on skis.

She reached out again, batting at it and watching the branch bounce as it was buffeted. I gave up and just unhooked the mouse and tossed it for her. She caught it and kicked it under the couch where she could just barely fit, her hind legs and tail sticking out as she wrestled with her new toy.

We decided to move anything breakable up to the higher branches.

Crumb came closer to sniff at the boxes and tilt his head as I wound the key on the bottom of a snow globe and tipped it up in front of him.

A tinny version of the Christmas song played as he watched the suspended snowflakes slowly drift down over a little house not so different from our own.

I hummed along, reached out to scratch under his chin.

To pups from 1 to 92, though it's been said many times, many ways, meowy Christmas to you.

I heard a chuckle from the other room and wondered if my appreciation for bad puns had come as a surprise, like my electrical handyman skills had.

I heard him bustling around in the kitchen, a drawer opening, and wondered if he was starting dinner.

I set the snow globe down in front of Crumb, who got down on his belly and pressed his nose to the glass, still watching the snowfall.

Bluebird stood and stretched beside the couch, and I called him over.

He sat down beside me and I put my arm around him, and we looked up at our beautiful tree.

I thought it might be a little chilly for him, and I reached for one of his sweaters in a box.

It was an ugly Christmas sweater with reindeer and baubles and candy canes stitched on.

I laughed as I pulled it over his head. He looked at me with consternation and despair, but I told him at least I wasn't making him wear his antlers yet.

Come see, Birdie in his sweater, I called.

He peeked out from the kitchen with something in his hand. He came closer and presented it to me. Some leaves and red berries tied together with the striped twine we saved from the bakery boxes.

He squatted down beside me and whispered, it's mistletoe.

I'm pretty sure these are bay leaves from the spice drawer. Hmm. They may still work, though.

Oh, they probably do.

Mistletoe and marmalade.

It was our first Christmas together.

Well, we'd had Christmases as friends, plenty of them, and a Christmas in the early days of falling in love.

But this was our first Christmas as a married couple, as a blended family.

There was me, my ginger cat, Marmalade, my scruffy brown dog, Crumb.

And now my love and his sleepy giant greyhound, Birdie.

In some ways, it felt like we'd been together for ages.

And in others it all felt brand new.

I'd known how he took his coffee, no milk, a spoonful of sugar.

And I knew his taste in music and the story behind the old green corduroy jacket he'd had since college.

But I was completely surprised by his passion for tabletop RPGs and near encyclopedic knowledge of the history and flavor profiles of many, many varieties of chilies.

I think I had surprised him, too.

When I'd replaced the sconces in the bedroom with some vintage ones I'd rebuilt and rewired. He joyfully flicked the switch off and on several times.

Admitting that this was well above his skill set.

And seemed like magic to him.

I had a feeling that this was one of the joys of loving someone for a long time.

Realizing there was always more to learn about them.

The animals had also learned more.

For example, that Birdie liked to graze and didn't usually eat his breakfast all at once.

Once Crumb realized there was a second breakfast available, just one bowl over.

He'D scarf his own.

And then dive into Birdies.

This had led to a somewhat complicated morning routine involving shooing Crumb out into the yard as soon as he'd finished his last kibble and convincing Bird to go on and clean his plate.

But most days we managed it.

Marmalade, as usual, took it all in stride.

She had priorities. She needed to lay on her perch and watch the birds at the feeder.

She needed several naps to bathe her paws and face and have some uninterrupted one on one time with me.

And whether there was one dog chasing his tail or two while she did it, she didn't much care.

I knew some of her disaffected nature was put on. She liked to appear a bit above her brothers.

But I'd also seen her bathe both of their faces when they'd come back from their checkups at the vet.

And on movie night. Her favorite spot was right between them.

Her chin resting on Bird's back and her back paw stretched out to touch Crumb's belly.

We were a happy little pack heading into the holidays.

And decorating had been a good deal of fun for all of us.

I wasn't a very organized person, so when it came time to gather together all the bulbs and strands of light and little houses for the Christmas village.

We'D had to troop up to the attic, down into the basement.

Route through the garage and dig under the bed.

But eventually we found nearly everything.

Our tree went up in the living room.

Right in front of the big picture window where it could be seen from the street.

There was a moment of contention while we debated white lights versus colored lights, but luckily my sweetheart realized I'd made a very convincing argument and my pick were strung up.

As we hung up bulbs and ornaments.

Some from my collection and some from his.

We told the stories of them.

Here was the bulb my mom had been gifted the year I was born, with the date still etched on the side.

And the crack that had been carefully glued after I'd pulled the tree down when I was three.

Here was the ornament made of popsicle sticks and cotton balls he'd glued together in kindergarten.

Unrecognizable as any particular thing, but cherished just the same.

As we decorated, the animals watched a bit nervously from their beds.

Boxes were often regarded with suspicion by all of them.

Things were either coming in or going out, and they weren't sure they approved of either.

Finally, Marmalade, bravest of the three.

Tiptoed up to the tree and reached a paw out toward a green glass bulb.

I could see her curious eyes reflected in the surface.

And whether she broke the bulb or not.

I thought I was likely to remember this moment for years to come.

Her wonder at it.

The glow of the tree lights through the fur of her ears.

She batted it experimentally.

And I squatted down beside her and replaced it with a felted mouse on skis.

She reached out again, batting at it and watching the branch bounce as it was buffeted.

I gave up and just unhooked the mouse and tossed it for her.

She caught it and kicked it under the couch, where she could just barely fit, her hind legs and tail sticking out as she wrestled with her new toy.

We decided to move anything breakable up to the higher branches.

Crumb came closer to sniff at the boxes.

And tilted his head as I wound the key.

On the bottom of a snow globe and tipped it up in front of him.

A tinny version of the Christmas song played as we watched the suspended snowflakes.

Slowly drift down over a little house not so different from our own.

I hummed along.

And reached out to scratch under his chin.

To pups from 1 to 92.

Though it's been said many times, many ways, meowy Christmas to you.

I heard a chuckle from the other room.

And wondered if my appreciation for bad puns had come as a surprise.

Like my electrical handyman skills had.

I heard him bustling around in the kitchen, a drawer opening, and wondered if he was starting dinner.

I set the snow globe down in front of Crumb, who got down on his belly and pressed his nose to the glass, still watching the snow fall.

Bluebird stood and stretched beside the couch, and I called him over.

He sat down beside me and I put my arm around him.

And we looked up at our beautiful tree.

I thought it might be a bit chilly for him when I reached for one of his sweaters in a box.

It was an ugly Christmas sweater with reindeer and baubles and candy canes stitched on.

I laughed as I pulled it over his head.

He looked at me with consternation and despair, but I told him, and at least I wasn't making him wear his antlers yet.

Come see Bertie in his sweater, I called.

He peeked out from the kitchen with something in his hand.

He came closer and presented it to me.

Some leaves and red berries tied together with the striped twine we saved from the bakery boxes.

He squatted down beside me and whispered, it's mistletoe.

I'm pretty sure these are bay leaves from the spice drawer. Hmm. They may still work, though.

Probably they do.

Sweet dreams.