Best. New Year's Eve. Ever

So I've spent new Year's Eve hopping from bar to bar in San Francisco and Seattle. I've spent it at parties with more alcohol served and enjoyed than my head liked to think about come New Year's Day. But nothing could beat this year's festivities. We turned out the lights and the boys donned their new headlamps from Santa. Then we played hide and seek. And camping under the covers of the big bed. And painting with light. And going outside to see if there is still ice in the water of our planters (there is).

I feel sorry for those poor suckers looking for a good time in Times Square or the Space Needle or any of the millions of rockin' bars around the world. Because the real good times are happening at a private party right here in Milton. Go figure.

Things my children teach me...

Last night as I was obsessively attempting to recreate one of the structures on the paper that came with the boys' new Lincoln Logs set, the boys got sick of my inability to have fun with it and pretty much moved on. Until Eddie grabbed a few pieces of log and opted to do some freestyle construction. Here's what he came up with:





Ladies and Gentlemen, a Lincoln Log Teeter Totter. Works, too. So whilst I joylessly tried to recreate what I was "supposed" to build, he kept it simple and quickly made what he wanted to build. Between that and both boys' joy at mixing up Play-Doh colors, I'm realizing that my rigid desires to do things the "right" way are hampering my enjoyment of life. (Not that I don't enjoy the bloody hell out of it already, but you know, it's not like you can ever enjoy life too much.) So though I don't typically make (OK, "keep" is more accurate) New Years resolutions, I'm going to try to follow their lead in 2007.

Because sometimes, a teeter totter is better than a stinkin' fort anyway.

Merry Freakin' Christmas (a couple of days later..)

Eddie was thrilled with "James's Ruhventures."

Getting Take Along James Goes Buzz Buzz Buzz gave Chas quite a thrill.

Eddie Gives Pink Grandma a thorough checkup.

Chas checks Pink Grandma's heart.

So Christmas went about as well as I have any right to expect. The boys loved their toys, dinner went well (slightly burnt dressing notwithstanding) and best of all, no "Christmas is over" depression. I got a mild twinge Christmas night when Eddie asked if Christmas was over.





Oh, and the boys were extraordinarily charming, running to greet and hug their grandma and grandpa when they arrived. On Christmas Eve, they were stunningly patient as all the other kids opened presents and we sort of forgot to get them something to open. (Chas asked very nicely if they had presents, too.)





The first present opened -- Thomas bikes were just out in the open -- was a doctor kit. Chas opened it and said, "Oh no. I don't like this." We laughed our butts off. Turns out he DOES like it, but immediately thought it was some sort of cruel Santa trick to get him a doctor's visit on Christmas.

Santa's Work is Never Done.

OK, actually Santa's work is done at about 12:20 a.m. December 25. At least in our house. The boys, per usual, are getting an obscene amount of stuff. The biggest and brightest among a sea of big, bright toys are two Thomas the Tank Engine bikes. Shiny, new and with James and Thomas on them, they are gong to be big hits, she said, hopefully.

Actually, given that the boys took a 3-hour nap this afternoon, I am pleasantly surprised that we got them to bed and finished up our elfly duties before 2 a.m., let alone at the insanely reasonable hour of shortly after midnight.

Oh and one other major debacle to report. Remember the nap? Well, while they napped, moms rolled out, baked and decorated a butt-load of sugar cookies for the family party. Task done. But then I went to take a brief 15 minute nap after they got up. My blissful rest was shattered by the heartbroken wail of my Eddie. "Mommy made them without me!" Now I was heartbroken as well. But we're going to make New Year's cookies, I promise. But maybe a half recipe as I'm sick to death of sugar cookies.

And finally, the evening would not be complete without a worry to share. We got home from my sister's house and Chas had hives all over his face -- no surprise as her dog licked him and that always gives the little allergy boy hives. But then Eddie starts complaining that his tongue itches. Eventually he decides that he bit it and it hurts. But I can't stop fretting about whether it's actually just the beginnings of anaphylaxis. I want to check on his breathing oh, every 30 seconds or so. this is not conducive to a restful night. We gave both boys Dimetapp for their colds, which contains and antihistamine. Then we gave Eddie Tylenol because he kept crying about how bad his tongue hurt. Which is probably overkill if he bit it. And drastically undertreating it if it's anaphylaxis. I'll rest much easier once the little bugger comes to crawl in bed with us.

Oh, and Merry Christmas!

A 21st Century Milestone...

Steph told me about this as she was getting Chas off the computer and I got the bath ready for the boys. But it didn't register until I just sat down at the computer and saw the screen.

For the first time in his life, on December 22, 2006, Chas Googled himself. The results weren't spectacular -- The Contractor's Health and Safety Assessment Scheme was the top result. But just a couple of sites down there was the Consortium on High Achievement And Success. So a rather inauspicious first google, but not too bad for a 3 1/2 year old. Sigh. They grow up so fast.

What does s-h-u-t-t-h-e-f-u-p spell, Mommy?

So Eddie's latest obsession is words and spelling them out. He wants to read so badly it's killing me. Every sign, every word every letter. He reads them all and askes, "What does that spell, Mommy?" This was cute the first 48 hours or so. Now it's just annoying. Especially since he has a tendency to run words together and start in the middle if we passed something in the car and he missed the beginning. Like if a sign says "Tacoma Next Exit," he'll ask, "m-a-n-e-x-t-e-x-i-t, what does that spell?"

The way I see it, either he learns to read before Kindergarten or it's going to be a looong year and a half.

A Snowball's Chance

Yes, yes, it's been a while. Not because there's been nothing to report, but because I've been busy with this thing called life.

Anyway, last weekend we took the boys for a train ride with Santa, known as the Snowball Express. It was lots of fun but for me it was mostly an opportunity to take lots and lots and lots of photos of my guys. So here are a few. I particularly like how Steph and Eddie share a 'tude in the first one.

Stinkin' Farts

So let me set the stage. Tonight Canadian wife and I (she's not from Canada, but that's the only place we're currently married. Oh, and I suppose in Massachusetts, sort of, but not in the eyes of the federal government, so I continue to consider her my Canadian wife) got the boys ready for bed, then put them in the van to go look at Christmas lights about 20 minutes away.

Within a few blocks, CW and I were practically high-fiving each other as the boys' eyes drooped and we made plans to do this every freakin' night. Then we hit the light display and they rallied. After a couple of loops through the light up neighborhood, we headed back and they were pretty wakeful. They insisted they wanted to go somewhere else. They were not specific about where somewhere else was, but very specific about where it was not -- home. Since we were still deluding ourselves into thinking that the lights were a temporary setback, we decided to indulge them and drive around a bit more. They wanted to know exactly where we were going, which seemed unfair since they wouldn't tell us where they wanted to go. But we settled on "looking for Christmas" which satisfied them for a while. Eventually Chas fell asleep. But not Eddie, who became convinced that we were lost.

Now, an aside on the whole pointless driving to put boys to sleep thing. Mea culpa. I am fairly certain that by the time they are grown, the cumulative total of miles driven to put them to sleep will result in 1 degree increase in global temperatures. I'm sorry.

OK, back to our story. Eventually, we decide that this is really pointless and head home. Eddie keeps asking where we're going. We tell him he'll see. Then he starts asking if we're there yet. So I tell him yes, that's why we're not stopping. This exchange happens a couple of times, then CW and I get really annoying and start telling him, "Now we're here and in a second we'll be there. Oh look, now we're here." This was, admittedly, obnoxious. But his angry response took me by surprise:

"You stinkin' farts!"

Now I've called the boys little stinkers, little farts, and in my more uncharitable moments, little stink-butts. But the rather, um, charming melding of two of these endearments took me a bit by surprise. Oh well.

Now he's in bed and I am getting him a drink of water. Can't you tell? But he's catching on and yelling for me. I'd better go before he either wakes his brother or bursts out in a streak of curses based on other words he's heard his mommy use.