Firebirds

Right around Christmas time my friend asked if I would like to put Nicco on a soccer or flag football team with her son. I told her Nicco would more likely go for soccer, but I'd ask.

 

I asked. He said, "None." So I told her, soccer it is! 

 

I didn't mention it to Nicco again until the day of his first practice. He said, "I'm going to hate it. You'll see. I wish I was playing football instead." And if we had chosen football, he would have wished to be playing soccer instead. Mr. Negative, never wants to do anything until he's actually doing it. I should stop asking or giving him options. Just tell him what we're doing when we get there.

 

Anyway, their first practice was mostly in the dark. We decided to move it up an hour for the next week. After practice I asked Nicco if he had some fun and he said Yes! He really liked climbing in the tree above the field. Ugh.

 

I told Patrice that they have a game on Saturday. He said, "already?" I said that it's YMCA rec league youth soccer. It's not that competitive. I don't think it would make much difference whether they had a month of practice or just the one day. He said, "won't that bother Nicco?" I laughed a little and said no, I don't think so.

 

The coach was a little late getting to the field this morning, so a few of the parents got some drills going. Nicco really wanted to be goalie. He did a good job in the drills, actually diving to save some shots. I thought that might be a good spot for him. Coach put him in goal to start, since he was the one taking most of the shots in the warm-up.

Right before the end of the first half, he had a really great save that would have been a goal for sure if he hadn't blocked it, so he got to be a hero with lots of cheers. Yay!

Coaching youth soccer is an awful lot like herding cats, but the coach managed to give them some good ideas and instructions and encouragement in their half-time huddle.

Coach put another little girl in as goalie the second half and holy cow, she did great! She had great instincts, she was aggressive, and she blocked about 5 shots. She only let one get past her.

Luckily, one of our kiddos tied it up. Nicco is there to the right of the bigger kid with the ball. He got his foot on the ball once or twice. It was fun to watch.

Herding cats, once again. Nicco wanted to bring a toy to play with during breaks. Coach had a hard enough time getting all the little monkeys to huddle up without distractions!

The game ended in a 1-1 tie. Apparently, ours is the only rookie team. All the other teams are made up of mostly returning players, so that was a pretty good showing, I'd say.

Best of all, on the ride home Nicco sang at the top of his lungs, "I Looooove soccer. I really really do. I love soccer!"

An Endorsement

Patrice has mentioned several times how he gets requests for "endorsements" via the professional networking site LinkedIn(or community, I don't really know what to call it.) Some lady e-mailed him, telling him what she does, asking him to write her a recommendation. These requests come from people who don't know him and whom he does not know, so what does that kind of "endorsement" mean?

Two words: absolutely nothing.
Actually, it's worse than nothing. It's fraudulent and deceptive.

When I make an endorsement, it's based on actual experience or first hand knowledge.
Here's a little back story for ya.

I was a super skinny kid. Itty bitty. I weighed less than 100 pounds up until I was in college. I remember the day I hit triple digits. It was a surprise. Not an unpleasant surprise, because the numbers never meant anything to me anyway. Just a surprise. I spent the next 5 years or so hovering around 100-105. Then I got a job and a little older and I added another 5 pounds. It was good to have a little substance to my form. The 110-115 was a welcome change. It wasn't until I turned 30 (and took my first trip to France with my sweetie pie) that I really put on some significant poundage. Twelve pounds in two weeks. Still, the 120s weren't too bad. In fact, I thought that was about my ideal weight. But then...I approached 40 and I felt like Bruce Willis's French girlfriend in Pulp Fiction, except that instead of wishing I "had a pot," I actually had one. I had to do some mental stretching to convince myself that what she said was true: Pot bellies make a man look either oafish, or like a gorilla. But on a woman, a pot belly is very sexy. The rest of you is normal. Normal face, normal legs, normal hips, normal ass, but with a big, perfectly round pot belly. If I had one, I'd wear a tee-shirt two sizes too small to accentuate it.  Although I would never wear a tee shirt two sizes too small to show off a pot belly. Anyway, I figured, as most people do, that we get older and our bodies change and that is just the way it is. I was okay with my pot. Then I was playing exercise on the wii fit and the number that never bothered me before bothered me. I crossed a line I swore I would never cross. I had to make a decision. Be happy with my pot, or do something about it.

I decided to do something about it. I started running again. But I live in AZ. I can't run outside in the summer. Lucky me, I have a friend who owns a gym! Lady of America, Fitness for Women, right here in Rancho Vistoso! Right next to Safeway! Convenient!  http://www.ladyofamerica.com/OroValley/

Here's the endorsement: Lady of America is Perfect. For everyone. Well, if you're a lady. It's not perfect for you if you're a man. No Boys Allowed! It doesn't matter your size or ability, it's a friendly and supportive environment for improving one's health. And who doesn't want to be more healthy? A gym membership is a lot less costly than chronic health problems.

The menu of classes has something for everyone...strength, aerobics, zumba, yoga, etc. I don't like classes, so I just watch while I run on the treadmill. The ladies in the classes like the classes though, they have a blast! They sweat and move and groove and SMILE!

If you like to be invisible, like me, you can go to the gym when it is not busy and no one will see you. Until your pot melts and you actually want to be seen. Then you can go when it's busy and show off.

My personal new favorite is TRX. It kicks my arse. (Not swearing, remember. I said it in british.) I have little lines of muscular definition after just a few classes. Which is kind of awesome.

I love that it's a women's gym. No sweaty men grunting and stinking and ogling.

And my favorite thing about Lady of America in Rancho Vistoso, it's a local business with an excellent product. I love supporting local businesses, especially when they provide a good service or product for the community.

And that's my endorsement. Be healthy. Support the local business. You'll be glad you did.
http://www.ladyofamerica.com/OroValley/

In Which I Teach My Cat a Lesson

My cat is a pain in my arse. (It's not swearing if you speak british.)

She was a snuggly sweet kitten for about two weeks, then she became a pill.
I used to lock her in her kitty cage at night so she wouldn't scratch the carpet or the furniture.
Then I allowed her out at night, but kept bedroom doors closed because she's super annoying when the sun goes down. Cats are kind of nocturnal after all.

She developed a really naughty habit of sneaking into my room late in the evening and hiding under the bed where I couldn't get her, then just as I was about to drift off into sweet, sweet slumber, she made her "I'm about to be naughty" murmur and started scratching my bed. She always knew exactly when I stopped waiting to grab her by the scruff of her neck and toss her out. The moment I closed my eyes for sleep, she murmured and started scratching.

I figured her out and managed to close the bedroom door and keep her out most nights. But, not content to be alone at night, she started jumping up on my little cabinet to scratch on my portrait of Nicco. The scratching is bad enough, but the worst thing was the ba-boom ba-boom ba-boom of the frame against the wall at Three.O'clock.In.The.Morning.

Eventually, I just took the stupid portrait down at night.

My husband was mad that we were letting the cat dictate to us. I figured that since I was the one who got up in the night to deal with her, I would decide whether or not to adapt to the cat's whims. I chose sleeping through the night over trying to teach The Cat a Lesson.

Things have changed recently. The Cat has become more affectionate, more calm, less of a pill. We started letting her in our room at night. She stopped scratching the bed. She started sleeping at the foot of the bed. She wanted to be in our company while she slept her 16 hours a day instead of in a hiding place. I put the portrait back up. She didn't scratch and bang. I thought my pesky kitten was maturing into a nice, pleasant cat.

Until a few nights ago.

She regressed. She started scratching and banging on the portrait again. She always announces her naughtiness with her murmur sound then, Ba-Boom! Ba-Boom! Ba-Boom! at Three. O'Clock. In. The. Morning.

I tried to booby trap the cabinet by putting lego toys and shoes and other obstacles in the way. That did not deter Frankie.

Then I came up with a brilliant plan yesterday. I took everything off the top of the cabinet. I laid down a plastic trash bag. I placed a towel on top of the plastic. Then I put two cookie sheets full of water on top. Miss Kitty would get a very unpleasant and wet surprise if she jumped up there in the middle of the night! HA!

Curiosity got the best of Frankie and she sniffed the pans of water.

She drank some of the water.

She murmured in the night.

But she did not bang on the wall.

 

I Win!



100 Days Smarter

Today was the Hundredth Day of School. Like last year, Nicco had a Hundred Day Project assigned. Unlike last year, his teacher said to "work as a family." Based on many of the projects, that was carte blanche for a bunch of first grade moms to do professional scrapbooker type Hundred Day projects for their kids. Last year many Kindergarten moms didn't need permission. They just took the bull by the horns and made the best 100 day projects ever!  

 

One of my friends volunteered today and she shares my opinion that the best work is work that the kids clearly did by themselves. She said that the more Mom Projects she saw, the more adamant she was that her boys do their projects themselves. As a teacher, I would be tempted to dock points for mom work.

 

Nicco and I talked about the different items we have in our house that would work for his project. We have Os, fish, buttons, beans, and googly eyes. At first he just wanted to repeat last year's project, but I talked him into branching out and trying something new. He chose googly eyes.

 

We talked about what he could do with googly eyes. I imagined him making bugs or monsters or aliens with lots of eyes, but Mr. OCD wanted order. People, with two eyes each. In houses. Neat Houses in a row. It's a neat street. No Big Orange Splots in sight. 

 

Mrs. G. instructed the kids to group their items by 2s, 5s, or 10s. When he brought his poster in, she looked at it and said, "You made groups of 10s...or 5s." He said, "I have 2 eyes on each person, 5 people in each house, and 10 eyes in all." She was impressed. "That's higher level thinking!" she said. My kid is a genius!

Funny Things are Everywhere

From there to here, from here to there,
Funny things are everywhere.
~Dr. Seuss

This is funny:

When Nicco was helping his Daddy take down Christmas lights, he came in with tape across his mouth. I put my hands on my hips, suppressed a giggle, and demanded to know if he sassed his Dad, forcing him to tape his mouth shut. The Kid laughed, found a pencil and a piece of paper, and wrote, "NO."

On my way home from the gym last week when it was cold, I saw a lady out walking in the chilly morning air. (It was probably only 50 degrees by then...brrr!!) She was wearing oven mitts on her hands.

While we waited in the checkout line at Sprouts, a curious person walked in. The person was very tall and very broad in the shoulders, with somewhat receding, shoulder length hair, bleached into oblivion. The person was not dressed particularly masculine or feminine and the face was distorted so it was difficult to discern the gender. As the person approached, I guessed (s)he was at least faking femininity, if (s)he was not feminine by nature. The facial distortions were due to either very recent or very bad collagen injections.

And, for some reason, I have the song My Uncle Terwilliger Waltzes With Bears stuck in my head. It's a terrible, terrible state of affairs....

The adopt-a-street sign at the entrance of my neighborhood is funny too. The family adopting our street "in loving memory of Buddy the Cat" just makes me laugh.

Speaking of signs, our town enlists the minimum security prisoners to clean and maintain our streets, sidewalks, and medians. I think it is great. But, the sign that says "Inmates Working. Do Not Stop" gives me a chuckle. Today was park day and there were "inmates working" on the side of the road, right by the stop sign. I had to stop. I told Nicco to lock his door. Not that I really thought an inmate would carjack us at the stop sign with the rest of the crew and presumably, a supervisor and all the passing traffic as witnesses, but still. A precaution.

When we got to the park there was a utility guy working on a drain. The kids were curious. They were good to stay a safe distance away. I went to check on them and the friendly utility guy said he enjoys the company at his boring job and the boys followed his instructions to sit and watch and to stay away from the hole and away from the "cootie water." When I was confident that they were safe from holes, water, wires and strangers, I walked away to let them observe the worker at work. As I walked away, I heard one of the boys ask him, "Are you an inmate?" That was funny.

Civil Rights

Nicco wanted me to change the radio from my station to his CD on the way home from school.
I didn't want to listen to his kids' songs for the bazillionth time, so I said no, it's my turn.
He said, you had a turn this morning. That's not fair.
I said, it's my car, I get to choose.
He said, ahem, we're learning about Civil. Rights.

So apparently, it's his Civil Right to listen to whatever he wants to in My Car. I don't know how the Founding Fathers and Martin Luther King missed that one.

The Saying Goes...

Nicco has been adjusting the temperature in the mornings. When he wakes up and sees 67, he says something like, "In the SIXTIES? Are you Kidding me? I'm Freezing!" Then he turns it up to 82.

The Daddy just brought home a new, programmable thermostat. He asked Nicco what it is. Nicco couldn't think of the word "thermostat."

Nicco looked at the features on the package. Cool, fan, heat. He said, "I know what it is but I can't put it on my finger."

I May As Well Just Move To Friggin' Alaska

It's cold.
For real.
Not "Tucson Cold," actual cold.
Razzafrazzascomfabiggzrzzzgrrr.

Our pipes froze.

Shut up.

Football

I used to love the Broncos.
I wore my orange and blue every Sunday.
I never missed a game.
I wept and cheered and lived and died on every play.

Apparently, Payton (or is it Peyton?) Manning is the best thing to happen to the Broncos since John Elway. I'm watching the game right now, one they are expected to win. It's the playoffs, baby! They could win the Super Bowl!

 I'll always be a Broncos fan, even if I rarely watch the games.

Waves of nostalgia should be washing over me, but watching the game taking place in Denver-Town today, all I can think is Brrrrr.

P.S. Peyton Manning is officially NOT the best thing to happen to the Broncos since John Elway. Or, he is the best thing since, but he is NO John Elway. Blarg. Now I can go back to not watching football.

A Rant

Because I fell off my "no hate in 2013" resolution wagon yesterday.

Today at school during pick-up time, a few moms were complaining about how much they hate the rule that to get a 4 in music and p.e. the kids have to do "all this extra work."

I said that I like the rule. I think it is great that kids who want to get the highest possible mark actually have to put in a little extra effort.

*BOOM* CRASH POW!!!

These women turned on me like the Ghost of Large Marge and yelled to me "IT'S BULLSHIT!"

Wow. A little over the top, I thought, but I'll try to explain my opinion. I think, I said, that kids who just show up to class should be satisfied with the perfectly respectable 3 they deserve for showing up to class and participating. They teachers laid out their expectations at the beginning of the year, and "all this extra work" is four extra assignments in a quarter. And, it's not really "extra" if it is the teacher's stated expectation. One a week for both classes. And they really aren't that hard. Even for the mom of a first grader. And going to the music performance counts for all 4.
Not. That. Hard.

RAWR HISS SPIT and VENOM!!!

"IT'S BULLSHIT!"
"KIDS GET HUNDREDS IN CLASS BUT DON'T GET A 4!"

Well, no, I said, because the teacher specifically stated her expectations at the beginning of the year. To earn a 4, a little. extra. work. is. required.

GRAWRRRR!!!
"NO. NO. NO. It's BULLSHIT!" (yawn. you said that already.)
"It's okay when you just have one kid, but it's really hard when you have three."

Okay, I said, so you didn't realize when You. Made. The. Choice. to have more than one kid that it would maybe be a little more work? You needed four extra p.e. assignments in 1st grade to get that message? That is the lamest excuse ever.

My friend interjected, "My problem with grading is that when kids actually demonstrate, through school/teacher evaluation that they are performing beyond the grade level standard, they still can only get a 2 if it is only the 2nd quarter."

BOOM CRASH POW AND BANG!!!
Then bravely defending their convictions, the moms turned away and mumbled something about Republicans.

It was amazing. And sad. On so many levels.

First, the participation award mentality. I exist, therefore I deserve praise and high marks.

Second, that these particular moms don't want their kids to learn the value of effort. Work ethic. It's a good thing. And oh, so easy to practice and instill in young children with 4 extra p.e. and music assignments!

Third, that these particular moms automatically ascribed work ethic to republicans and deemed it undesirable.

I'm stunned.

Do You Hear the People Sing...

...singing the songs of angry men;
it is the music of a people
who will not be slaves again!

I just got back from the movies. Feeling all full of fire and rebellion.
I sent a quick e-mail to my sisters, then popped over to the Drudge Report.
Something I haven't done in Ages.
Well, months.
Two months.
Two months and three days, to be precise.
And this is what I see.

Tyrants.
Our Dear Leader is a Tyrant.
It is the likes of him from whom we are protected by the 2nd Amendment.
Arms are not in the constitution to protect hunters and sportsmen. The amendment was written specifically to protect the citizens against Tyranny.

"A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed."

Shall. Not. Be. Infringed.

Molon Labe, Cowards.

Read to a Dog

Our local libraries have a recurring event called "Read to a Dog" where kids can come in and gain confidence and practice reading out loud to a non-critical audience, service dogs. It's a good idea, but the kids aren't one-on-one with the dogs, they are in front of other kids, their parents, and the handlers. But still a good idea and good practice.

 

I asked the handlers what the dogs' job was. They said that the dogs are feel-good animals. They go to libraries, hospitals, and nursing homes, mostly. Their job is to make people happy.

 

We arrived before our friend and the dogs and Nicco thought it was a weird idea, reading to a dog. Pfft. Then the dogs came in. First was a big grey poodle. "That's a fluffy dog!" said Nicco. I asked if he would like to read to that fluffy dog. He said no. Then a spotted, droopy-eyed, black and white dog came in. He said he didn't want to read to that dog either. There followed a bouncy little westie, a golden retriever, and an old black lab. Nicco said he wanted to wait for all the dogs before he chose, but they were quickly claimed by the children filing in. He chose Jesse, the droopy-eyed spotted dog. He was a friendly dog, but the least cute, I thought.

 

Nicco started reading "Dog Loves Drawing" to Jesse while we waited for his buddy to arrive.

 He was less shy and scooted up closer once Ryan showed up.

The kids took turns reading and giving the dog treats.

Nicco decided to check out the book he read. Maybe my little aspiring artist will use the ideas in the story to diversify his own portfolio.

It was cute and fun. For me. I think Nicco thought it was weird. But, when we snuggled for sleep, he said it was "sorta fun" and he would do it again. "But with a cute dog. You know, Aunt Di's new puppy."

It's a Wrap

(I tried to post this a couple days ago but the google conspiracy to control me through my data was kicked up a notch when the "browse" button disappeared from my "upload pictures" options and I was forced to make a picasa album. Forced. Against my will. To use another Google tool.)

Mom and Dad hit the road this morning.

I sneaked some extra Christmas treats into their road trip snack box. Ha ha!

We had a good visit even though we didn't go on too many adventures. We did visit the Mini Time Machine, a museum of miniatures. You aren't allowed to use a flash there, and I forgot to steal the fuzzy pictures on Mom's camera (I forgot to put the charged up battery back into my camera) that I took of Nicco looking at the Mini Christmas Village on the floor in one room. (maybe my Mama will send the pictures to me.)

We also went to La Encantada on the Saturday before Christmas to see the Enchanted Snowfall. It was enchanting!


Watching the "snow" fall from the upper level

 

Catching "snow" flakes



Nicco tried to make a snowball. I let him. Another kid came over and tried to do the same, but his mama scolded him. It's dirty and icky to touch the ground where soapy pretend snow fell! The kid stood aside and watched Nicco, filled with envy and desire to play as he played.

Nicco and his snowballs. He giggled and laughed and tossed the foamy fluff at his grandpa. Patrice made a face like the scolding mama. I may have rolled my eyes. I regularly tell Nicco that getting a little dirty and bruised are signs of fun. I didn't think this was an exception to that rule. My kid will have a fonder memory of the evening than the other kid who wasn't allowed to get dirty. So there.

We went to Frost a few times. It's a tradition. And it makes Mom and Dad feel like they are back in Italy. (I also took a picture of Nicco with his dark chocolate gelato mustache on Mom's camera...maybe she will send me that picture too!)

We played lots and lots of games and took many walks.

It's always sad when visits come to an end. Last night, after Nicco told me that if our hose is hard to roll up we should get the ex-hose because it expands when the water comes on and gets small again when the water is off. Believe it or not, it fits in a flower pot. It doesn't bend, it doesn't break. And it's only something ninety five. Or something ninety nine. After that infomercial, he told me he doesn't want to dream about tomorrow. It will be too sad. He slept in late this morning and went back to bed and tried to refuse to say good-bye in an effort to delay the inevitable departure of his grandparents.

We watched them drive around the bend even though we were f-f-freezing, and when we came inside Nicco said, with a tear in his eye and a catch in his throat, "I loved playing Spot It with Grandma. I loved playing Mille Bornes with Grandpa. I am going to miss them so much."

~sniff~

I Dreamed a Dream

It was really bad.
I haven't had a nightmare like this in a long, long time.

I used to have these violent, horrific nightmares in which I was running, hiding, protecting my family from evil monsters and weapon-wielding murderers. They were vivid and terrifying. I would wake up sweating, confused, and afraid to move until I realized it was a dream. Even with that realization, in the middle of the night it was hard to feel at ease.

This was worse. Way worse. Instead of running, hiding, and protecting people I love from evil monsters, I was chasing, hunting, and slaughtering people. People I love. I was the evil monster.
It was awful.

Then I had to teach primary children in the classroom that was inexplicably in my bedroom in a penthouse apartment with all my delicates strewn about. Apparently, in my murderous rampage I forgot to put my laundry away.

The horror!

But seriously. It was horrific.

2013

Well, we made it. The Mayans are all having a good laugh at us, I think. Or the end of the world happened and we just don't know it. Like in Lost.

 

We were hoping to celebrate the New Year with some friends, but the mama got sick. Nicco said the daddy and the kids should come anyway. That's what he would do. Leave the ailing mama behind to fend for her weakened self while the rest of the family partied. Nice of him, don't you think?

 

We managed to have a lovely day/evening all by ourselves. We played lots of games, went to see The Hobbit: An Unexpected Journey, ate lots of snacks, (so much that we decided to skip dinner), watched another movie that none of us really got, then shot off firecrackers in the street at midnight. Alone. Our neighbors are party poopers. Or they were partying somewhere else. Or they stayed inside where it was warm. My nose was froze.

 

A few words on the Hobbit before moving on. If it weren't for the fact that I love the stories and characters from having read the books multiple times in my youth, I'm not sure the scenery and special effects would have been enough for me to like it. At all. It was way too long. They should have put the whole story in one movie, but in order to milk as much money as possible out of the franchise, they're stretching it into a trilogy. That's bad enough, but if they absolutely must make a trilogy out of the least complicated story in the LOTR series, they should have cut every scene by a minute or two. Or five. Every scene was too long. Every scene. The beloved story and characters allowed me to just get over my annoyance. That, and Nicco hissing "precioussssss" on the way home. 

 

Anyway, the moon was full when 2012 became 2013.

Nicco was excited for the firecrackers.

He was also cold. He had to snuggle up in Grandpa's coat and Grandma's arms. I went from popsicle to icicle in mere minutes outside. My Dad, who will be ice fishing in below freezing temperatures this weekend, mocked me mercilessly for my thin AZ blood.

The Boys, checking out the stash.  

Patrice asked Nicco if he wanted to help. Nicco stuttered, "S..s...s...s...ure." as he shivered in the cold. 

Watching the show. When we came to the one dud in the batch Nicco said, "That was cheap. Bra-vo."

All our firecrackers. It seemed like a lot more last night. Time DOES NOT fly when you are freezing.

January first is the official end of Christmas at my house so I took down the tree and all the other decorations.

We played some more games, we ate some more snacks, and we soaked in the hot tub.

We did not go to the gym. We did not start our diets. But we had a good day.

One good day in 2013 down, 364 to go!

Protecting You From Yourself

If you think this is ridiculous, it is.
It's also funny.

Talk about banning/confiscating guns is also ridiculous.
And not funny.

Merry Merry!

We had a super fantastic Christmas. How could we not? Unless we came down with the stomach flu. That would be a bummer. But we didn't. So it was super fantastic!

Nicco was W-I-R-E-D all day on Christmas Eve. He was wild and silly and crazy and annoying.We made him take a two mile walk.

 He ran and climbed and found interesting rocks for me to take pictures of.

He liked going to the top of the hills and ridges along the way. He's getting more and more bold and adventuresome. I mostly think it's great, but you know how I am about letting my little bird fly.
Nervous. Anxious. Slightly crazy.

 This was a really high hill and I couldn't see him most of the time. He's just a small dot!

We reached our destination, the 40-foot high bench near a grave marker of some sort. Nicco imagined it is the burial site of someone's pet. He etched a message in the dirt next to the cross..."Please come back to life."
"I just really care about cats and dogs," he said.

My silly little boy has been wearing this oversized stocking around sort of like a cape. He thinks he looks like a superhero.

Speaking of superheroes, when I went to Nicco's class a week or two ago I stopped in and visited with his Kindergarten teacher on her lunch break. She has frogs. One of them likes to feel the warm current wafting from the pump and heater in the corner.

He stood floating like this for several minutes. It made me giggle. He moved suddenly, after standing still, over to the corner. . .

. . . and took up the same Superman stance behind one of the other frogs. Hilarious. It looks like he's waiting for his buddy to turn around so he can scare him.

Anyway, our day went on. We played Sorry! and the kid won. He did a victory dance. It was hilarious. And yet, a little dangerous. With arms and legs flying around, I was sure he would break something or kick or hit someone in the face. I made him go away with his Daddy to pick up our Christmas Feast at AJ's, the fancy shmancy grocery store.

When the boys returned, we talked to our French Family. They were still enjoying their feast (at 1:30 in the a.m.!) Santa Claus had visited them and gifted them and they were content with each other. They and Patrice explained to Nicco that in France, the small kids stay up as late as they can and listen for noises on the rooftop. When they hear the telltale stomping of booted feet and clicking of reindeer paws, they run and hide so as not to get caught by the Pere Noel. When the noises stop, they sneak back out (at midnight, you know) to find all the gifts under the tree. Unwrapping the presents begins with the stroke of midnight, when it is officially Christmas Day. The Boy's eyes grew, he slowly turned to look at me with a big smile and those big eyes.

I shook my head and waved my finger and said, "This is America. In America, the kids go to bed as early as possible to make sure they are asleep so Santa can come." I told him that when we visit our people in France at Christmas time we will observe the French tradition. There was no way on God's Green Earth that I was staying up to midnight with the kid. Not in his particular pesky state of excitement. In fact, I was tempted to borrow a page from my cousin's playbook and give him "Christmas Medicine." AKA Benadryl. Or maybe slip some rum into his chocolate milk.

After dinner and the traditional reading of the story of Christ's birth in the Bible, we did all our prepping for Santa. We made a plate of cookies and milk and Nicco left the letter he wrote for Santa at school beside the treat tray. Then we went outside to sprinkle reindeer food on the ground.

 Look at this beautiful evening!

Nicco put the sparkly oats near the landscape light so that the reindeer would be sure to see it shining in front of our house.

I tucked my small boy in, read him the Whizzpopper chapter in The BFG, had a small giggle fit, then visited with the grown-ups for a while until we had to get to bed too.

At about 7:30 in the morning, I heard the pitter patter of small feet and then felt the bouncy bounce of my small boy at the foot of my bed. He said, "Santa came! He came! He came!" Can I go open my presents?" No, I said. Wait for everyone to wake up. "Can't I just look at my sock?" No, I said. We need Grandpa and Grandma to wake up. The house started stirring and Nicco found all the treats left by Santa. He helped everyone open their gifts.

By the way, just because the world didn't end last week doesn't mean we shouldn't be prepared. Food and water storage are essential, as are guns, ammo, medicine, alternative sources of power, and...

...booze. You see, when the proverbial S H T F, you will need medicine, disinfectant, fuel, goods or services to trade and barter, and you just may need a little something with which to drown your own misery and fear. Or a little something to enhance your experience of watching the world go up in flames. Vodka (or vodika, as Nicco calls it) is versatile. It serves all the aforementioned purposes.

Now Dad is prepared.

We continued opening our gifts. Nicco is sitting on his new blue chair, opening his new lamp.

 He was directed to the office where he opened his own personal creative station.

He's an aspiring artist. Patrice decided he should have his own desk where he can create and work and keep all his tools organized. I thought it was a great idea, but I was a little worried that the awesome gift might be a little sophisticated for a seven year old boy who just wants toys and games for Christmas. Santa Claus must have had the same concern I did, because he left Nicco a note that reminded him that even if he doesn't get everything on his list, the best gifts he can give and receive are love and kindness.

I should have had more confidence. The boy opened his desk, set it all up, sorted and organized his pencils, markers, crayons, papers, and paints and spent the entire day at his desk in his jammies. He didn't even notice that he didn't get an illumivor or a dream-lite.

His Grandma helped him make a color palette and oversaw his project. Grandma knows what she's doing. We asked him if he likes his desk. He said, "No, I don't like it. I. LOVE. IT! I've been loving it since this morning!"

My husband is a very thoughtful gift-giver. I'm kind of a failure. The kid's desk was a home run, and this is what he got for me:

When we moved from Colorado to Arizona, I had to move away from my double awesome, custom, hand-built bookshelf in Littleton. I cried when we moved. Mostly because we were leaving home, the place I grew up, proximity to my parents, the first home we made together, the home where our baby was born. But also because I only got to enjoy that bookshelf for eight months. Boo hoo!

So, after nearly four years in sad little cardboard boxes in the garage, my books saw the light of day again! This is how amazing my husband is. He could have bought me a bookshelf from the big furniture store where everyone else gets their home furnishings, but he found this instead. It is made from reclaimed wood from India. It comes from buildings that were either falling apart or being destroyed. The wood, crown molding, doors, flooring, etc. were salvaged and used to make something new, like beautiful armoires and bookshelves!

We had to give away our extra couches to accommodate Nicco's desk and my shelves, so the cat has nowhere to hide. She tried to commandeer the shelves, but that didn't last. Books, you know. Books trump Cats. I'm glad she got to have a little fun before the books came in from the garage.

 Look at the detail. Beautiful.

 Crown molding. So lovely!

 Antiquey door pulls.

The lock/latch at the top. I love it. L-O-V-E it.

The funny thing is that Patrice probably thought the armoire was his gift to me, but he was only partly right. This is a gift of equal magnitude:

 I got to look at, feel, sort and organize all my books. All of them. Delight!

Home at last! My books, all shelved. The only (small) problem with the armoire is that the shelves are tall. I have more books than the shelves would accommodate, so I had to stack many of them horizontal instead of vertical and I even had to tuck a few back behind the Beautiful Books. But that's okay. Some day in the future we may add a shelf or two, but for now, they are all comfy and cozy and with their friends, where they belong. And I can see them! And touch them! And read them!

Out of the park.
Patrice wins Christmas.