My Kids
My BIG kids, that is. I’m still on holiday.
Here we have Emma (13), Haley (21), Adam (17).
Haley made cookies, with Emma as sous-chef.
The girls are getting predatory. The boy’s a beat behind, but considering…
And he’s in!! Christmas cookies! YUUMMMmmmm….
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© 2006, Mary P
Merry Christmas!
Merry Christmas, Everyone! I may be by from time to time, but my plans include only savouring these days with my family – and a little time to myself, too! I hope you all enjoy the season, too, each in your own way.
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© 2006, Mary P
Busy, busy…
Daycare Christmas party starts in about an hour.
Eleven families invited; one couldn’t make it; one didn’t bother to RSVP.
Total attendees: Fourteen adults, eleven children.
Plus my family of five, only one of whom – me – is obliged to attend.
I expect lots of good food, volume, crowding, and a need to open windows by 6 p.m.
Will tell you about it tomorrow, perhaps. If I don’t get back before the new year:
Merry Christmas!
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© 2006, Mary P
Oh, Tannenbaum, Babies
My tree is up.
Most of you know how challenging it can be to keep ONE tot away from a tree. Imagine keeping five away. Not to fear. I am Experienced, and I am Creative. In previous years, the tree has been:
– wired to the ceiling
– placed inside a playpen
– set upon a table and wired to it
– placed behind a baby gate
– set up undecorated
– decorated only with unbreakable ornaments
– wired with cattle wire. (KIDDING)
– skipped altogether
Not once in my eleven or twelve or so years in this biz have I ever, ever had gifts under that tree until ninety seconds after working hours of the last day before Christmas.
Until this year.
My tree is up. It is also fully decorated – though it seems to me the cranberry-bead garlands were a little more symmetrical this time yesterday.
There are two two-year-olds and three one-year-olds in this house.
There are also PRESENTS underneath it. The presents are untouched. Reckless, you say? It seems that way, I know, but really, all risks are calculated, this amazing circumstance accomplished in stages. Cautious, incredulous stages.
Monday: put up the tree, sans ornaments on the bottom half.
(The tots don’t touch the tree!)
Tuesday: place ornaments on the bottom half.
(The tots don’t touch the ornaments!!)
Wednesday: place gifts under the tree.
(The tots don’t touch the gifts. At all!!!)
Thursday: I take pictures for proof, because who would believe it otherwise?
This cannot be attributed wholly to me and my amazing way with kids. These are a GREAT bunch of kids. An astounding bunch of kids. Kids who – I can scarce believe it myself – look but don’t touch.
This is my true Christmas Miracle.
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© 2006, Mary P
He has an Ulterior Motive
“What’s dat?”
Nigel has arrived for the day, and has stopped in the middle of removing his boots to stab a pudgy finger toward the ceiling.
“That’s mistletoe, sweetie. You know what it’s for? It’s for KISSING!!” Nigel receives a stream of boisterous smooches, starting with his chubby cheeks and working down under his soft little chin. He shrieks in delight.
A few minutes later, Adam comes downstairs. “What’s dat?” Nigel points up again, blue eyes wide and innocent.
“It’s mistletoe, bud.” The answer is distracted; Adam is getting ready for school.
“What’s dat??” The tone is more insistent.
Adam’s head comes up and he looks directly upon the tot. “Mistletoe, silly. I told you already.”
“What’s dat??” He doesn’t quite stomp his baby foot, but you can tell he’s on the verge.
“Mistletoe. You know why it’s there?” As Adam starts to swoop, Nigel’s face lights up. Adam picks him up and deposits a loud, squeaking cartoon kiss on the top of his head. Nigel squeals his approval. Adam gives me a hug, then heads out the door.
Emily’s mom comes throught the door.
“What’s dat?”
That mistletoe has never gotten such mileage before! Little Mr. “What’s dat?” must have received upwards of 27 rambunctious smooches yesterday. And he’s not the only one who takes advantage of the thing in this house.
Heh.
Merry Christmas!
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© 2006, Mary P
Proven: Sleep Deprivation Increases Creativity
Case in point: Aaron, a mere five weeks into dadhood, has come up with a seriously brilliant parenting gizmo.
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© 2006, Mary P
George and Darcy do the Twelve Days of Cwiss-Muss
George and Darcy sing as they build block cities on my kitchen floor.
George: On the fuhwust day of Cwiss-muss, my twoo love gave to me, A pawtwidge in a pay-uh twee.
On the second day of Cwiss-muss, my twoo love gave to me… gave to me… gave… Two… birds in a tree!
On the third day of Cwiss-muss, my twoo love gave to me, three Fwench hens, two birds in a tree, and a pawtwidge in a pear tree.
Darcy: All he’s giving her is birds.
George: What?
Darcy: All he’s giving her is birds. Listen. On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, four calling birds, three French hens, two kinda doves, and a partridge in a pear tree. See? All birds.
George: At first it’s only birds. On the fifth day of Cwiss-musss, my twoo love gave to me, [takes a deep breath the better to belt this one out]
FIVE GOOOOOLDEN THINNNNGS!
Darcy: Heh. You said ‘things’!
George and Darcy: FIVE GOOOOOLDEN RRIIINGS!
George and Darcy: Four callin’ birds, three French hens, two kinda doves in a tree, [gasp for breath] and a Partwidge in a pay-uh tree!
Darcy: On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, six geese layin’ down…
George: On the seventh day of Cwiss-muss, my twoo love gave to me, seven swans swimming.
On the eighth day of Cwiss-muss, my twoo love gave to me, eight…
Darcy: Maids a-milkin’.
George: Eight…
Darcy: Maids a-milkin’.
George: Eight…
Darcy: George, you are not listening. MAIDS A-MILKIN’.
George: Eight maids a milkin’, nine…
Darcy: Lords a… no, maids… no, drummers…
George: On the ninth day of Cwiss-muss, my twoo love gave to me, nine… nine…
Darcy [in tones of sincere regret]: We forget that song, do we?
(No, that’s not a typo. He said ‘do we’ instead of ‘don’t we’. Heh.)
George: (a heartfelt sigh) Yeeeeaaahhh….
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© 2006, Mary P
P.S.
Forgot to mention. New post up at PiP. Entirely frivolous. Go have a look, if you like.
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© 2006, Mary P
Carolling is not as Easy as you Might Think
Nigel awaits his lunch, singing to while away the time.
“Jingle ball!
Jingle ball!
Jingle ball inna way!”
A cat toy? A festive dance? A seasonal male ailment? Whatever it is, it needs to move outta the way!
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© 2006, Mary P
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