NOT HIM AGAIN...

i can't believe i subjected poor gabriel to the perilous lap of dear old santi-claus again. ...and as the little bugger began to pout, the biggest bottom-lip curl you've ever seen, a tear welling up in his little eye... i was overcome with regret. you would've thought we sent him to hades or at least Joann's possessed by the forelorn chef. dear ol' santi-claus weathered the storm and waved a fond farewell complete with complimentary candy cane. no freaky "hooooo hoooo hooo" and "you'll poke your eye" and yet gabel acted as if he'd sat with lucifer himself, disguised in white trim. well a few tears later and we were back on the train... back in daddy's arms where fun could be had... amid the christmas lights of the irvine park... amid the clamor of his cousins. and in the end fun was had by all... thanks to the fact that santa is heading aaaaaaaaall the way back to the north pole.

CANDID CHRISTMAS

thanksgiving has come and gone... christmas is on the way. the gift list for 18 nieces and nephews looms on the horizon... but how fortunate we are to have a big family... we press on... fascinating ourselves with the annual gifting brainstorm. the gabel's toys are getting sparse... what, oh what will santa bring him this year? i was thinkin' we'd make him a sea-saw. what could be better, right? ...was always a major favorite of mine. plus it seems simple enough... one long plank and something it balances on. yeah... my projects always seem sooo easy... in theory. well the hunt for just the right baby-gabey present continues. ...hmmm, and yet the more opposing question... what to get mr. claus???

WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN... Part II

...the wine-stainer treks into the room carrying a giant tupperware bowl containing one, small, bite-size piece of beef and a measly pile of mashed potatoes. i'll tell you what you do: you instinctively furrow your brow and trek right back from whence the toddler came. there you will find a spotted dog in the process of consuming (and by consuming i mean sucking down whole) an entire 8 inch NY strip steak. you pounce on the dog, yell "drop it" about 58 times to no avail, and proceed to pry open his jaws and pull the darn steak from his gagging throat... (refer to christmas rule #4 of: how to retrieve tinsel from a cat's gullet). once you've got it... you then hold up what's left of the soggy steak, stare at it for a good 10 seconds and wonder "now what the heck do i do with it". (with inflection on the 'now'.) finally you set it on the kitchen counter (out of babe and ravenous-mongrel reach) where the deprived pup can smell it and suffer... some advanced form of disciplinary measures you tell yourself.

WHAT DO YOU DO WHEN...

...the little bugger attempts the ol' pump-fake with your obnoxiously full glass of wine? i'll tell you what you do: you watch in horror as about 2.5 measuring cups of darn good red wine dance through the air in pain inducing slow motion. myocardial infarction... that would describe the pain in your chest... you are experiencing a mild heart attack. you do nothing but shriek a single expletive while watching the air dance conclude upon the very pride and joy of your very adult living room... pottery barn's loop jute, boucle-woven by hand, all-natural Rug. there's no reversing the clock. there it is purply red... expansive... and stomach turning. try as you might you can not get it out... not with oxy which you have to rush out to buy at that very instant, and certainly not by blotting with a white cloth as directed on the rug's tab. did you know water stains this poor-doesn't-stand-a-chance adornment... how miserable is that? ...and so you strongly consider taking it to the driveway and oxy-bleaching the entire thing... but until then it sits rolled up in the living room as befuddled as you yourself... awaiting the day when it has a formal room to itself.