It started snowing an hour before the kids got out of school for break two weeks ago. It almost hasn’t stopped at all since. The piles of snow in front of our houses in my neighbourhood? Taller than I am. “It doesn’t snow in Vancouver” my fat white ass. I meant to take pictures, I really did, but I wasn’t blogging and you know how that goes. And now the gorgeous snow hills are the same shade of gray as death and just look less gorgeous and more dirty-icebergish.
So we spent the majority of Christmas break running out early to buy the winter pants and boots that Santa fully intended to bring a few days later, because damn him and his deadlines that have nothing to do with the actual weather outside, hanging out at home, playing outside, sledding and pelting each other with snowballs. And shoveling, oh the shoveling. Good thing I’m the only person here from Colorado; I smoked those bitches asses at shoveling the street. That Dirty American isn’t so aggravating anymore, is she?
*ahem*
And then it was Jesus’ birthday, so we opened some presents on his behalf (which was fine with him; he hasn’t worn a kids’ size 12 coats in ages) and ate some food. Okay, we ate all the food. I cooked for five. Thousand. It was epic, and then it was New Years, and tomorrow the kids go back to school.
In a year when people are getting trampled to death for cheap wrapping paper, when cities are under siege, when the stock market is wiping out 401K’s, when my husband is damn lucky to still have a job, when my kids are *this* close to outgrowing that magic twinkle in their eyes that only December can bring, I thought it was high time to shake up my holiday traditions. This year, I’m channeling the ghosts of my Christmas past, present and future in order to rediscover what it’s all about, and I’m dedicating this whole week on my blog to just that. Because, really, in the end, what we do and what we give can reflect what Christmas is about for you, and what it’s about, for me, is this:
It’s about putting a song in our heart
About what’s precious
About wishing on the brightest star
About supporting our friends
About laughing so hard we pee a little
About keeping the magic alive
About creating
About discovery
And about remembering why it all matters in the first place.
My kid hates her Halloween costume. Oh, the joys of having a house full of boys and only one little girl. She’d much rather be a totally awesome cowboy.
She’d even rather being a pirate. (This is a pirate, and if you even dare try to tell her it’s not, she’ll let you have it.
You know what’s also awesome about having a house full of big boys and only one little girl? You let that one little girl have all kinds of things you’d never dream of letting the first two have. Things like candy. So when you then try to dress her up in some stupid, tuled out costume, put a bunch of crap on her face, and tell her she’s got to go outside in the cold and work for her candy? Well, she’ll have a few choice words for you.
Or maybe just one carefully chosen word. Bygones. Turns out, my kid isn’t so very impressed with the whole “trick or treat” thing. Which sucks because god damn was she ever cute.
But she wasn’t having it. We even tried the Buddy system, but that didn’t work out so well. (I think she knew she’d gotten out-cuted.)
She went to three whole doors before she was all, “Maaawm, I am sooo over this.”
Good thing my other children have brains. Well, one of them does, but he’s probably frying it.
And one of them just wants to eat them. Om nom nom. (I’m totally submitting this for Best Photograph to Blurb’s Halloween Picture Contest that’s going on at Parent Blogger’s Network. Just saying.)
Tell me that’s not better than Criss Angel. Go on, I dare you. Not bad for, like, $5.99 in makeup, and some old shirt I hated anyway, huh?
1of3 reallyreallyreally wanted to be a pantomime, and when his father about whacked me in the head for even suggesting it, it was up to me to come up with something less totally nerdtastic, and fast. Well, hell; give me some earrings and a little Manic Panic, and I can hook you right up. Enter the punk rocker.
How much do you want to bet that in about 6 years, I’ll be posting a really similar picture, only it won’t be for Halloween? That is, of course, provided they have any teeth left. Anyone know a good dentist?
The best part about having kids is realizing one day that you’re done with all the sleep-deprivation and the booty wiping and the non-stop maintenance and that those tiny little things who couldn’t breath without you are suddenly people. Their OWN people. People who you can do all sorts of kick-ass things with.
My son was chosen to be the editor of his classroom newsletter. Excuse me while I do a geeky little happy dance of joy. We sat up all night laying that sucker out. He’s got a headline article, a monthly recipe, a seasonal column and a monthly teacher spotlight, where he will one-by-one interview all the teachers in school. Each teacher will get a standard lists of questions and then one that is a surprise, editorial if you will. Teacher one is being asked, “Why was man able to set foot on the moon before they put wheels on suitcases?”
Gawd, I love that kid.
And oh yeah, he wants to start a blog. And I’m totally going to let him. And it will totally rock your socks. Or bore you to tears. Either way, I’ll read it.
As if that’s not good enough, I offer you evidence that I have sufficiently warped their little minds and can now retire to a treehouse in Fiji, with a drink in a pineapple rind and a little pet monkey.
MY KIDS TOTALLY WENT TO SEE WEEZER WITH ME.
I tried to take them the last time Weezer came through Denver, but it just so turned out that the baby likes Weezer, too, and decided to claw her way out of my more delicate bits right about the time the show would have started. That’s dedication, yo.
Angels and Airwaves opened for them, which is one of all of our favorite bands.
The kids were sort of, well, shocked by the whole thing. I tried to prep them for the bass feelings in your chest, but I failed to mention that they might get something of a contact high (which I have no doubt they did, fucking Vancouver, man) and the boys spent the first 40 minutes of the show just about like this.
(By the way, can you tell what good seats we have? The Donor never, EVER, has to do a load of laundry again. He came through in a big way for me on this one. We could see the sweat dripping off their foreheads, I tell ya.)
But when Weezer stepped out on stage, and before the lights even came up hit it hard with My Name Is Jonas, the mood all changed.
My kids? ARE THE FREAKING COOLEST KIDS ON EARTH. They lovelovelove Weezer. They stood on their seats and screamed along with the band for the rest of the night. I could die.
And then the 3 year old flipped out on the sitter, and I had to leave the boys behind and head home right when 1of3 grew the cajones to go crowd surfing (turns out, there’s an age requirement. Which? Grrr) but the report is that the last half of the concert was exactly as good, if not better, than the first half.
Dude, I don’t care if you’re not much into nerd rock, I don’t care if you’re 96 3/4. Go to Weezer if they ever come through your town. Take your kids. They are flawless live. And every single person, even the 8 year old in the section up from you, will be singing along at the top of their lungs to every song, all night long. It’ll be like Woodstock, only with talent. Also, not disgusting.
See?
PS: I was so excited, I even did my hair. And so did Colleen. Just sayin.
See all of Lotus’ not so geeky Weekly Winners right here.
