Sunday, December 27, 2009

More Christmas Log -- 2009

December 27th, 2009

11:33 am --Ever since finally seeing The Secretary, Dave sometimes calls me Ms. Baggott through the baby monitor while I'm working.

11:02-- My two year old son is off to the grocery store -- with his man purse and his ... man bracelet? Let's be honest. He picked out the velvet leiderhaussen and the hand-me-down cow-print coat for the party. He's got style.4:01 pm --First rule of potluck. There is no potluck. (Of course, there's a potluck. And our hosts grew up in, I want to say, Minnesota therefore it will be hearty.)

Dec. 26th -- A day of rest for the Log. Only one entry.

9:45pm -- I say to the two year old, "Your sitter Perri comes back tomorrow! And you can show her your presents!" He says, "An' Santa will tome. An' he will dive me more pwesents an' he will put dem under the twee. An' I will open dem an' it will be merry Twismas!" "Oh, no. Um, sorry. Christmas is over. That part is done." "He not toming back tomorrow?" "No." "How bout to-later?" "He'll come back a really long time from now when you're three years old." "Santa is cweepy an' nice." "I agree."

Dec. 25th

3:53pm --On the way to the potluck, I will reiterate the rules of potluck. "Potluck isn't luck. It's all skill. Case the table while they're putting out utensils. Hover like choppers. Go in early. Round two, look for tipsy adults and slip in between the weak links. Final rule of potluck? Do not, on the car... ride home, say you're hungry."

3:17pm -- In preparationg for Robert Downing Jr in Sherlock Holmes, we read some Sherlock Holmes. (And RDJ is right. Watson really gazes very lovingly at Holmes. Very, very lovingly. Plus, I had to explain that in days of yore, ejaculating was another acceptable term for exclaiming. Words.)

3:12pm -- No holiday boardgames. (Those of you have experienced the let's-get-pumped head-butts of Pictionary -- Doug Cassler -- and/or the tackling in joy -- Chris Canning Esposito (still feel bad about knocking your tooth out during racquetball in '89) and/or the pen-throwing glass-frame-breaking Scrabble ...-- ahem, Mr. Scott -- will understand why. It's almost as bad as our family history.

3:06pm --The homemade Christmas tree cake has a dent. To quote Spongebob, "It'll buff out."

3:03pm -- Driving Green Machine slowly, carefully in my yellow galloshes with 2 year old at the controls -- feeling the burn -- and then feel the whiz of a football as it careens past my head. Near catastrophe averted -- meaning one of the boys got really lucky.

12:47pm -- We can find the sneaker that whacked the 12 year old in the forehead by tracing -- CSI-style -- the tread marks on his skin. (9 year old threw shoe out of anger at the hot wheels race track. I'm blaming NASCAR.) I consoled with the old adage, "A Christmas black-eye is the specialist!"

11:22 am -- Momentary commercialism angst -- what if all the stores really are close out there -- just like France on Sundays and most Mondays and during the lunch hour and in the evenings?

11:05 am -- The 2 year old is addicted to "lollicanes." I feel we're in for the DTs, man. It's gonna be ugly.

Friday, December 25, 2009

Christmas Log -- 2009

Christmas Log 2009.



Christmas Eve -- 12/24



12:33 pm -- Just overheard 13 year old daughter tell the 2 year old, "If I could call you Mr. Tinkles and fit you in my handbag, I would, Mr. Tinkles."

2:04 pm -- Denied a Green Machine in childhood b/c she thought her parents were poor and didn't want to humiliate them for asking for such a thing (turns out corporate lawyers make good money -- so why the velcro briefcase and Ford Escort without second gear? -- is now fulfilled. Green Machine. Check.

2:33 -- Dave eats pepper, suffers 4 spastic hiccups, puffed lips, feels like Angelina Jolie.



3:12 -- Dave fears peppers on hands, can't pick nose. Phoebe still calling 2yo Mr. Tinkles. He's now responding to it regularly. Low on pants as Floridians, 2 year old has, in fact, peed through all of his pants. Back in shorts.



4:40 -- Dave informs me that he has bought fake tattoos for everyone for the Christmas photo. A man with a vision.



5:59 -- What led to the explosion? Well, I'll start with my bootie. I like it warm. So I put it up to the oven and accidentally upped the temp to 500 degrees. Dave came running in from the shower in his towel b/c he thought things smelled burnt. "What? Burnt? Everything's fine." I was now sitting on the floor, leaning against the oven to keep my back warm. I scooted so he could check. He saw the temp, the slightly blackened chicken, got water to juice it up again. Water hits Pyrex. Pyrex explodes. Glass flies through the air -- the oven filled with shards. It's all quiet and sizzly. Dave panting in his towel. Me, a little baffled, but still warm. My 13 year old son says, "Asian restaurant, anyone? Fa ra ra ra ra ra ra ra ra raaaaa." (Quoting the film ... need I tell you?)



6:42 -- And then ... there was a Christmas Pizza miracle.



6:55 -- One of the kids says, "Dad, there's a Christmas miracle going on in the toilet that you need to fix!"



7:57 -- We go out to see the lights get caught in a downpour and then a Baptist church parking lot full of anxious Baptists.



8:40 -- Have fully exploited the kid who likes to wrap.



8:44 -- Dave is not getting the canary yellow '75 T-Top Stingray Corvette for sale on Mills St. -- anyone else? 6k. (I said that you could buy wells in Africa for that. And Phoebe says, "If we're not getting the Corvette, you should put your money where your mouth is and buy some African wells then!"



8:52 - We kept talking about the exploding Pyrex, and the 2 year old finally asks if "the pirates are really mean." For the past so many hours, he's thought we had exploding pirates in the kitchen. Sometimes I just think -- what's his world like?



9:22 -- After long discussions with two year old, he now says Santa can come. It took a lot of convincing that Santa really just wants to break into our home to give us things. (He's a very jaded two and a half.) But we've now agreed: Santa, just put the gifts down and back away. And no one will get hurt.



12/25/09 Christmas DAY.



9:08 am -- When one of the kids confused "Eucharist" with 3rd baseman "Youkilis" during the scavenger hunt clues, it was made clear that I've fallen on my Catholic duties, but we're raising devout Red Sox fans.


10:12 am-- Feeling the urge to engage in some kind of pick-up game -- family against family -- to verify our dominance.


10:15 am -- The two year old really did want a vacuum cleaner. (In honor of Dave's fallen canary yellow Corvette wish, the vacuum is canary yellow -- but not '75 nor T-top.)

Wednesday, December 16, 2009

Random Pensees, as the French Say!

• If gin and tonics don't naturally reduce cholesterol, I don't want to know.

I can admit when I'm wrong!
I was wrong about Robert Downing Jr. -- did NOT see the comeback coming.

And I was wrong about the Olsen twins.
Not ugly adults.

Okay, so I was ALSO wrong about Terrance Trent Darby.
See? I can admit it!

The way the 2-year-old dances to the theme song to IT'S ALWAYS SUNNY IN PHILADELPHIA makes me think I'm doing something deeply wrong. (Flip, flip, flip a-delphia.)

My 2-year-old son called my 12-year-old son the word for a French shower. I'm blaming this on the 12-year-old.

Santa is really "creeping out" the two-year-old. His words, not mine.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Ironic Gifts for 13-year-old Sons who will one day grow up ... and perhaps land on your sofa ...

So I don't want to buy my 13-year-old son any super hero t-shirts for Christmas. "I had to live through that grueling Batman phase and it dragged on for years. I'm not doing super hero t-shirts now in the name of irony. I'm just not."

"If you deny the desire, you're just raising an adult who will only wear ironic super hero t-shirts," Dave tells me.

"He can do whatever he wants when he's an adult. I won't have to look at ironic super hero t-shirts everyday when he's living in Chicago running a theater company!"

My husband -- while brushing his teeth with an electric toothbrush -- says, "That's optimistic."

"Okay," I say, "how about 'when he's living in Chicago running a theater company into the ground'?"

"You know," Dave says, "that once he runs his Chicago theater company into the ground, he's going to come back here and live with us and sleep on the sofa -- wearing ironic super hero t-shirts."

"Damn it! You're right. Okay, one. Just one! That's it!"

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Kid Quote of the Day


Dave and I were badmouthing a misogynist. This is a favorite past-time of ours, a bloodsport really.

My nine year old son says, "But Daddy, you're a misogynist!"

Dave looks at him, thinks about it, and says, "I think you're mistaking misogynist with someone who massages his wife's shoulders during ESPN -- as a kind of payment for her suffering ESPN. It's a little different."

Does the world need more leg warmers?

So you just don't want to give someone another pair of light-up socks. You can't give the person who has everything a mini-waffle maker. You just can't buy more cookie-dough scented candles.

Have no fear.

Make a donation in someone's name. A gift that gives.

Check out: www.Girls Write Now.org

Michelle Obama just gave them a Coming Up Taller Award. And, oh how I wish I were taller.