The big even this last week was the whirlwind of Christmas. Being almost 4, Sam was at a great age to really get into things this year. She kept talking about everything we were going to be doing, practically building out a itinerary for everyone with the clockwork precision of a monkey running a train station. It’s a good thing, too, because it was a pretty busy couple of days. We went to a big family party on Christmas Eve, where Sam and Mandy met Santa. As this picture shows, however, they were not quite sure what to make of the big man in red, and had to look for each other for guidance on what the HELL do we do now?
On Christmas morning we all rolled out of bed about the usual time, but Sam and Mandy went down to the living room to find the tree engorged with presents. Seriously, some people –AND YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE– went overboard this year on the girls. But they liked it. There was a Fisher Price barn, a Doodle Pro, clothes, a talking clock, a scooter (which Sam has taken to riding in tight circles on the kitchen floor since it’s so cold out), a walker for Mandy, and more. Ger and I had decided not to exchange gifts with each other, but we still got tons of great stuff from others.
Early that evening we got all dressed up and Ger’s godparents took us to a fancy –and very, very good– dinner at a club where old, rich people come to gather. I went in planning to loudly bring up gay marriage just to see how many monocles I could get to pop out from those seated around us, but I quickly got lost in the experience and the appetizer table. Everyone else enjoyed it, too, including Mandy who sat perched up on her high chair like royalty, cramming mashed potatoes and cranberry jelly into her maw and wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. Good times.
Besides the fact that my mom was in town for another nice, long visit, that’s about it. I took the rest of Christmas week off from work, so I was ready to go back to the office so I could get some rest. Seriously, who decided to make children so tiring? I’d like a word with Him.
On a final note, I’d like to trot out this figure: 1 year, 2 weeks. That’s how long I was able to keep Mandy from finding some cat vomit on the floor and taking a tentative bite. It wasn’t easy, and I think I deserve some kind of medal than you very much.