It's All in the Timing

On Christmas day, as we left Granny and Poppy's Christmas feast (on our way to Bubby and Poppa's Christmas feast), our sweet little minivan had a bit of trouble. I thought nothing of it, as I'd noticed this same shaking and bouncing several times before. But when Dan discovered the bouncing and shaking he was concerned. And when he discovered that this bouncing and shaking had been going on for some time - and while his wife and children were driving all over town... - well, he was more concerned. By bedtime that night, the decision had been made. Time for a new car. (In all honesty it was probably time for a new car several years ago. Maybe when we couldn't get over the mountain to Bob and Della's house. Or when the door fell off. Or when... you get the picture.)

We found a minivan that looked good and decided to go take a look on Monday.

Monday came, and we hopped in the car. We pulled into a neighbor's driveway to turn around. And we stopped. The car was dead. Not just a little dead. Dead dead. Hmmm. Perfect timing, don't you think?


We got the car out of the driveway and onto the street. Where is remains today.


And we headed off in Poppa's car to find a new one for us. We found it. And we bought it. Now we're broke. But happy.

The end.

The stockings were hung by the chimney with care...

...Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

If I could figure out how to post a video...

...you'd be watching last night's entertainment. Two boys I know came up with dance moves to "Jingle Bells, Batman Smells." Complete with squatting to lay eggs and pirouettes when Joker takes ballet.

I like these people.

A Paradox

My African dog loves nothing better than to frolick in the snow. Honestly, I will never understand her.

First Snow

This morning, after a very late night of cutting about a million little squares of green tissue paper (for a project the first grade was planning to do today), I woke up, got myself and the boys ready for the day, and headed out with Jake for his orthodontist appointment. Sitting in the waiting room, we saw it on the tv: "Stafford County Schools Closed."

It was not snowing.

But, we'll take it! Got through the ortho appointment (wait six months to see if he loses some more of those baby teeth...) and headed home. Again, it was not snowing. By the time we turned onto our street - a whopping two minutes later - the snow was falling heavy and the ground was covered. I was nervous about our evil driveway. We made it into the garage and were greeted by Camden and Dan.

SNOW DAY!!!

L-O-V-I-N-G IT!!!

So far today...


We have inspected, arranged, and rearranged the Christmas gifts. A lot.


We have spent more than one hour watching the birds feast in the backyard. This fat cardinal has yet to get a bite. Doesn't fit on the feeder. But he's not giving up! The fat woodpecker torments the fat cardinal by showing off how he can cling to the bottom of the feeder - and the cardinal can't. The fat blue jay wants us all to believe he's above all that foolishness and only makes his attempts when he thinks nobody is looking. I'd like to say, "Mr. Cardinal, Mr. Jay can't do it either. He's just too prideful to let on." All the other little fatties (my favorite are the budgies and the titmice - so cute!) are doing very well for themselves. And yes, they are ALL fat - they definitely know where the suckers who will refill the feeder daily live.


We have played in the snow. We have then left the treat Ms. Gail gave us out in the snow while we enjoyed our hot chocolate (with lots of marshmallows, of course). We have discovered that the treat has dissapeared under more snow. We have gone out and dug for that treat, found it, and found out why Mommy kept saying we should be wearing a coat.

We are now reading Harry Potter, eating treats, and playing with legos.

It's a perfect day. Even if I didn't get to take advantage of the opportunity to sleep in!

Basketball

I know sports. Really. You think I'm joking, but I'm not. I may be the last one you'll find actually playing sports, because I'm just not any good at them, but I know my stuff. I know how to play sports. I know how to throw, hit and catch a baseball; how to control a soccer ball; how to sack a quarterback, throw a football, and make a touchdown. I know the details and the rules of each game. I also know what is going on in the world of sports. Kobe, Landon, Ichiro, and Tom? Yeah, we're old pals. Tiger? Not so much. (I'm not so much into golf or infidelity.)

My sons think I'm pretty great.

Or, they used to.

Turns out, basketball's not my strong point. Sure, I can dribble a ball. I can follow a game - and thoroughly enjoy it. But when I'm watching my boy attempting to play on his first basketball team, and my other boy asks me, "What just happened, Mommy?" well, I don't have a clue.

Let's hope for a steep learning curve. For all of us.

Not Gonna Cut It

I've taken over 15,000 photos so far this year. One would think I would have at least a few Christmas card worthy shots. One would be wrong.

Exibit A:

I love this picture. Truly. It's my favorite picture of the whole year. And by far the best one of us as a family in, well, forever. (Sad, I know. But true.) I hesitate to send it out as a Christmas card. For one thing, it may not be totally appropriate to be aiming a gun directly at our friends and loved ones, even if it is bright orange and plastic. For another thing, I feel the need to accompany a picture of four pirates with a witty caption. And I've got no witty caption.

Exibit B:

Another family photo (one of two this year). I do love it. But really, would you send this out as your Christmas card? Yeah, I didn't think so. As cute as Jake looks with mad scientist hair, and as stunning as I am as Word Girl, hmmm. Dan does make a good evil villain, and Cam fits right in as the superhero monkey. But, no. Just not gonna happen.

So you see my dilemma. Out of 15,000 photos, I have exactly ZERO to use for the Christmas card. Oops.

Yesterday...

Jake was baptized and confirmed a member of
The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.

Eight

Last night, as I stood staring at my little boy asleep in the top bunk, a tear (or two...) came to my eye. It was the last time I would look at my seven-year-old. Because this morning, when we woke up, he was eight.

Eight is a really big deal. We believe it is the age of accountability, when a child is no longer completely dependent on mom and dad to make every decision, but can start to make some of those decisions on his own. He will now be accountable for the choices he makes.

While there is obviously a lot of teaching and guiding left to do - and many years to continue doing it - it's pretty important that by age eight a child has a basic knowledge of right and wrong and of the gospel of Jesus Christ.

As I looked at my baby lying there in bed, I questioned whether I've taught him what he needs to know by this point. Does he know how much his Savior loves him? Does he know what He has asked of him? And how to follow Him? Is he ready to take on the consequences of his actions? Is he ready to make promises to his Heavenly Father? And to keep them?

As I looked at my baby lying there in bed, I knew that he is ready. (I may not be, but he is!) He is a good boy. He knows his Savior. He knows the commandments and he knows where (and who) to look for the way to follow Him. He wants to do right. And really, what more can there be?

I love this little boy. He drives me nuts and he makes my heart sing. He is brilliant. He is funny. He is kind and compassionate. And honest. He is an artist. He is a writer and a story teller. He is thoughtful. He is loud. He is an athlete. He is my first-born, my little boy. And I can't imagine life without him.

Thanks for being born, Jake. You're going to do great at being eight!