The Saddest Banana in the World

Most of you know Kid C has been claiming he is "left-handed" ever since he had his cast taken off of his right arm. 

We've tried to be patient. Waited for him to figure out he is not left-handed. We don't want to push him into realizing an ugly truth: he is right-handed. 

Unfortunately, however, he is in third grade and his class is deep into learning cursive. 

The final breaking point was his Cursive 'B is for Banana' sheet. 

Take a look. It didn't start out well. 

If I draw them bigger, I'll only have to do, like, two.

Next came the actual word. Banana. 

Teacher: "Okay, Kid C. All you have to do is copy the example. Got it?"

Kid C: "Got it!"

Booo Yeah! Perfect. One says "Banana." The other says "Banana." An exact copy.

Teacher. "Umm... Okay. So do you notice how in cursive, the letters connect to each other in a flowing kind of way?'

Kid C: "Yes."

Teacher: "Try it again, but this time in cursive. "

Kid C: "Got it."

Score! Connective, flowing... brilliant banana.

Teacher (grunts in frustration): "Okay, Kid C. This time, try writing the entire word without letting your pencil leave the paper."

Kid C: "But it says banana."

Teacher: "Yes, but not in cursive. Can you try it again? With your pencil stuck to the paper the entire time?"

Kid C: "You got it!"

Cursive accomplished! The pencil never left the paper! Not even once.

Teacher (sighs): "Okay. Because I love pain, I'm going to ask you to try it one more time."

Kid C: "This is going to be the best banana yet."

So, yes, we are being mean parents and forcing him to change to his right hand. He is right-handed. We're not exactly being abusive or anything, are we? Because he gives me these puppy-dog eyes, and with a trembling lip, says, "But... but... I'm left-handed. I really think I'm left-handed. Please?"

I keep trying to tell him that just because we're making him write with his right hand, it doesn't mean he will actually lose his left hand. But he seems unconvinced. He goes around cradling his left hand, whispering sweet goodbyes. 

Ally Condie says part of her inspiration for a few of the scenes in Matched was the fact that our nation's kids are losing the ability to write. I have no idea what she's talking about. See above. I would like the evidence entered as Exhibit B. For Banana.

Kid C gets Chastised for Being Violent

Hi Y'all! I'm back from Vegas, rested and recovered. I did, however, lose my new sunglasses. I guess what happens in Vegas really does stay in Vegas, because I bought the sunglasses on the strip.

Oh well, I'll tell you all about it next week.

So, I was going through Kid C's homework yesterday, and discovered he had to redo one of his assignments. The teacher had asked him to create a short story based on this prompt:

"Here's How to Get Rid of a Monster!"

Keep in mind Kid C has a cast on his right arm, so he's writing with his left, and that's why his handwriting is so bad. At least, that's what we tell ourselves.

I'll translate his story for you:

"Find a light place to sleep, and find a knife and stab it behind its back and scare the monster, then you put his lifeless body in the cold sea."

His teacher made him do it over again, with the instruction to "Rewrite with no VIOLENCE"

I understand that schools have a zero-tolerance policy regarding violence, and we whole-heartedly agree with this policy. We love our teacher and understand why she had to say something.

I do, however, have a problem with the assignment if you can't answer with violence. How else are you supposed to get rid of a monster?  I'm sorry, but if I were facing a monster, the last thing I would want is a hero who tries to kill it with kindness. Smother it with hugs. Slay it with butterflies and rainbows.

No, if I were facing a monster, I would want a hero who would find a light place to sleep (not sure how this tactic fits in with the whole thing), find a knife, stab it in the back and dump its limp, lifeless body in the cold sea.

Now if the question were, "How Do You Make Friends?" that would be different. I would not recommend this tactic. But in any other situation, I think Kid C's answer was perfect. 

If I incorporated this rule in my book, it would be a very different story. Of course, there is that one scene where the main character uses glitter to kill a dragon. 

What do you think?

Ask My Hubby Anything You Want! And... Kid C's First Day of School

Happy Monday Morning y'all.

I just realized the milk in my fridge has an expiration date that is past my deadline for my sequel EVERNEATH 2: Nikki Gets a Drivers License.

The Milk of Doom

Do you know what that means? I have until that milk curdles to finish my book.

So, instead of working on my book today, I will transfer the milk from the fridge to the freezer, in the hopes of slowing down the curdling process.

Thankfully I have more hours in the day to watch milk curdle because today was the first day of school.

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL! The happiest day of the year.

From Left to Right: Kid B, Yoshi, Sling, Kid C

Kid C looks so old outside our house.

Then we walk him to school, and he looks like this:

Awwww.... Don't even think about touching him, kids! I'm watching you...

He looks so small, with a backpack down to his knees, and straps tangled with his sling. 

Crazy enough, his left-handed handwriting is almost as good as his right. 

[transition]

So, long story short... as a special treat to y'all, I won't be blogging the rest of this week. Instead, we will have a surprise visitor! 

Umm... it's my husband. (surprise)

I thought it would be fun if y'all would leave a question for him in the comments. You can ask him anything! 

ex: Sam, do you feel like you are in constant competition with Rafa for your wife's affection? 

Nothing's off limits! Well... almost nothing is off limits! So please help me with my deadline by asking Sam questions and stopping milk from curdling.

Two Different Ways to win an ARC of EVERNEATH... and Wisdom from Kid C

Hey y'all! 

First up, some items of note.*

*sidenote: I don't think I've ever used the phrase "items of note"

1. There are two contests going on to win an ARC (Advanced Reader Copy) of EVERNEATH. 

One is at awesome apocalypsie-mate and debut author Gretchen McNeil's site. She is having a mega-giveaway treasure hunt with her own stellar-looking book POSSESS, and a couple other apocalypsie books like mine and SLIDE by Jill Hathaway.

The other is at another awesome apocalypsie-mate Jill Hathaway's blog. (Said author of SLIDE). She has an interview up with me and she is giving away an ARC of EVERNEATH.

2. EVERNEATH is available for pre-order. There are three places you can order from, and they are listed in my sidebar. (look a little to the right... more... there!)

3.  My fuse is short lately. I told Sam that normally it is "this big" (holding my thumb and forefinger about half an inch apart" and now it is "this biG" (squashing my thumb and forefinger together). 

I keep thinking this is a good excuse for snapping at him. It's not, I know.

To make my fuse even shorter (imagine my thumb and forefinger drawing blood, and touching bone to bone because of the force with which I am smushing them) I have Kid C literally very high on pain medication.

It doesn't make him tired. Or placid.

It makes him wander around aimlessly, imparting random bits of his wisdom.

Even as I'm typing this, we had the following conversation:

Kid C: "Everyone in the world has the best camera on earth, right?"

me: "Um, not necessarily."

C: "Yes they do. You wanna know what it is?" Then, in a low voice as if he was a magician revealing his biggest trick, "Your mind." Jazz hands. "You can click, and you can delete, and you don't even have to pay for it. If you wanted to buy a camera like your mind, it would cost thousands of dollars."

*Sigh*

I keep waiting for him to start talk about all the pretty colors in the air, and marveling at the way his hand moves.

He just said, "Brodi, are ya okay? Maybe I've been a little too rough on you."

Aw, Kid C. We'll get through this.

Kid C is on Pins and Needles... Literally. They're in his Arm.

We were five minutes away from leaving the park.

FIVE MINUTES!

When Kid C limped toward us, cradling his arm and crying.

An hour later we were at an Instacare getting x-rays:

Don't be deceived. That is not a smile, and he is not serene.

Two hours later, we were at Primary Children's Hospital, getting more x-rays:

Four hours later, at about 12:30 a.m. we had the diagnosis: Type II Supracondylar Humerus Fracture. It would need immediate surgery.

And by "immediate", they meant 7:30 in the morning. Kid C was thrilled:

We got to have a "sleep over" at the hospital, where just for fun, the nurses would wake us up every hour to "hug his arm" (check his blood pressure), "give his hand something to drink" (adjust his IV) and "make his finger light up" (check his oxygen saturation).

It was so fun.

The next morning, Kid C got to go for a ride in his bed. In his bed! The bed had wheels.

Then he went to sleep.

When he woke up, his throat was raspy and sore. Despite how many times we reminded him he had a tube down his throat, he was convinced he was getting a cold.

He kept saying, in the voice of a 60-year old smoker, "I can't believe I broke my elbow and I'm getting a cold at the same time."

When he was done with surgery, he got to order room service. Pancakes and rootbeer slushees. He hasn't stopped talking about it since. 

Some of his observations during the whole ordeal (often high on pain medication):

When Sam was trying to cheer him up: "Uh, Dad, can you say nothing?"

When Sam went to take a picture: "No pictures. Do not disturb."

Upon seeing his x-rays with the pins in his bone: "Um, what the heck is that?"

We told him it was his brain on drugs.

When the nurse attached a cord to his finger, and told him to "watch the monitor to see magic numbers pop up!", he said: "Ugh. This is beyond boring."

Every time a nurse or doctor went to touch his arm: "DON'T TOUCH IT! I'll move it." Wincing, he grabs the fingers of his right hand. "Okay. Where do you want it?"

Lamenting his bad fortune: "I won't be able to raise my hand. I can't even wiggle my broken bone. I can't even bow." (For all those occasions when bowing is required.)

Immediately after surgery: "I can't believe I just fell asleep all on my own. I slept through the whole thing!" and also: "You won't believe the dream I just had."

About every five minutes: "I can't believe I'm going to be left-handed from now on."

and: "I can't believe my handwriting is going to be so bad."

and: "People make chicken out of birds, right?" (I have no idea what this was in reference to...)

In reference to the $250 emergency room co-pay: "Now I know why hospitals cost so much. You get free tv, free video games, free icees, free room service, free bed. I love the hospital."

Yes, Kid C, that was the most expensive "free bed" you'll ever know.

I'm trying not to think this is some sort of karma for me because of all my complaining about deadlines. It's not, is it? Is it?!

Kid C snores at the Shakespeare Festival... and the best perk to being an Author

Hey y'all. 

So, today marks one-month until the sequel to EVERNEATH is due in to my publisher. 

I'm not freaking out. Mostly because my editor reads my blog. (Hi Kristin! Nothing to see here!)

But I will say you can read my stress on my chin. I pick at my chin until it starts to bleed, then I wait for the blood to dry up, and then I pick it some more. And like any self-respecting addict, I say, "This is the last time I pick it. The last time. I am in control."

And then I pick it again. 

Yes, I have just spent the first half of this blog talking about picking scabs. There are so many places to go from here. 

1. When I turned eight, my parents took me to the Shakespeare Festival for the first time. Since then, with few exceptions, I've gone every year.

Kid C and Kid B at the Globe replica in Cedar City

Now Kid C is eight, so I took him to his first play, expecting it to be as magical as my first play. 

Here's how magic it was for him:

To sleep, perchance to dream...

And he was on the front row. The actors were practically tripping over his feet. And yet, he slept...

2. Look at what I got in the mail today!

UNDER THE NEVER SKY by Veronica Rossi

INCARNATE by Jodi Meadows

SLIDE by Jill Hathaway

Undoubtedly, the best perk to being an author is being able to read books before they come out! But the worst part is getting these books in the mail on the day that marks one month before my sequel is due... 

And... we've come full circle. 

So, what do y'all plan on doing for the last month of summer? Anyone going to the SCBWI conference in L.A. this week? If you are, look for me!

My Timeout from Kid C... A Break We Both Need

Happy Monday, yon Bloggerville.

Kid C has a Basketball camp this week, so I'm planning on getting a lot of work done. If I could just get out of bed.

Here he is on his first day:

Check out that form. He can make the ball hover at three-inches above the ground.

Truthfully, Kid C and I needed a break. We had a rough weekend that consisted of a grand total of 28 time outs, 26 of which were his. (Two were mine.) I got in such a groove that eventually I was putting everyone in time out: Kid B, Sam, the neighbors, the neighbors' dog, the lamppost... It was sad.

At one point, as he was emerging from one of the time outs, Sam and I felt the need to list our grievances against him, just to make sure he was clear on exactly why he was in time out.

After the first few accusations, he looked up at Sam with sad little eyes, and said, "Can we please just skip to the part where I say 'I'm sorry'?"

Both of us cracked up and he was off the hook. It was a needed moment of levity in a weekend of suck.

Do you ever have weekends like this? Where you're just dying for Monday to get here?

Ask Me Anything Day! Because I'm Tired of being Stumped by Kid C

Kid C has been asking me questions all week. He never stops. He must think that's how he earns his keep around here. And his questions are impossible to answer:

"How do you make glass?"

"Who would win in a fight between Sonic and the Avatar?"

"Is everything in the world real?"

Follow up: "So, you're saying Sonic is real?"

Follow up to the follow up: "What do you mean really a cartoon?"

"Why are knights extinct?"

"Where is the desert?"

"Where is the Garden of Eden?"

"Who invented school?"

"Who made the first house?"

"Why is America so much younger than other countries?"

follow up: "So, did we steal it from the natives?"

follow up to the follow up: "But isn't stealing bad?"

"Why didn't you catch that Bin Laden guy while you were in Pakistan?"

 (We were in Pakistan two years ago).

And my favorite:

"Is everything in the world possible? Or is nothing impossible?"

Personally, I would love to get some questions I can actually answer. So, let's have an open topic in the comments. Do you have any questions about publishing? Querying? Book Covers? ARCs? Swearing in YA? Writing? Me? Anatomy? The air speed velocity of an African Swallow?

It's a free-for-all. Ask me anything. And I'll try to answer in the comments as the day goes on. 

I know other authors do this, but they are much more popular than I am, so please ask me some questions so I don't feel like a tool. :)

A List! Including: My New Car, Where Comfort is an Option... And Sam Destroys the Indestructible Miracle Blade

Hey y'all!

Happy Friday.

First off, Chersti Nieveen interviewed me on her blog for Utah Author's Month. Please go visit, and leave a comment! I don't want her viewership to go down just because I'm on there.

For today, a list!

1. So, I finally bought a new car. The best thing about it? The car has a special - nay, magical - button. Check it out.

Yep. That there is a "comfort" button.

Has there ever been anything so wonderful? 

I want to know how this button came about. Were the car makers all, "Let's be the first guys to make 'comfort' an option. Not mandatory. We'll be rich!"

When I first got in the car to test drive it, the button was not depressed. I had to wonder, who wouldn't press the button? Maybe someone who had it all, and was like, "I want to see how the uncomfortable people live. Jeeves! Un-press the button!"

There are definitely times I get in the car, and I think to myself, "You know, life has been a little easy lately. Comfort, off!"

Sometimes I threaten the kids: "Stop fighting, or you know that comfort you've been enjoying? Consider it gone!"

2. It's Mother's Day this weekend. Time for really bad art from my kids.

Here's a preview: Kid C made a card for me, and drew a picture of the two of us together. 

Me, Kid C

Emily Wing Smith was right- I do look the same in every picture. Kid C definitely gets his drawing skills from me. Lately, he's been asking if he can illustrate my next book. 

Judging from this picture, that would be totally awesome. 

3. The other day, Sam was baking buffalo wings, and when he removed the tray from the oven, underneath the tin foil he found this:

That would be our kitchen scissors and a steak knife, melted together, and flat as a crepe. 

I sent the picture to Miracle Blade, along with the note, "I thought your knives were supposed to be indestructible, but apparently they can't withstand 450 degrees for 15-18 minutes. Put that in your infomercial!"

I want to know how Sam took the cookie sheet out of the cupboard, put the knife and scissors on top of it, then placed a sheet of tin foil over the whole thing, and then put two rows of frozen buffalo wings on top of that... and didn't notice!

It's not like they blended in with the background. You really can't get more neon-red than those scissors. And when he was carefully placing the wings on top, was there ever a moment where he thought, "Hey, the wings seem to be pooling on either side of this giant bump in the middle. That's weird."

It's probably an air bubble.

Oh, nope. It's scissors and a steak knife.

So, what are y'all up to this weekend? Any special Mother's Day plans? Have you commented on Chersti's blog? Anyone else ever bake a pair of scissors with a side of steak knife?

Questions from an Eight Year Old about Bin Laden: aka Why I'm tongue tied.

This morning, I talked to Kid C about what happened on September 11, 2001, and then I told him about Bin Laden getting killed, and that this was a historical day. 

He's trying his hardest to comprehend it all, and he's asking me some tough questions.

"Killing is bad right? Then why are we cheering?"

"Doesn't he have a family who will miss him?"

"Is Bin Laden going to Heaven? Then where is he going?"

"Why does he hate us? He doesn't even know me. Would he be happy if I died?" 

"Did Jesus want him dead?"

"Do you think they killed him with a knife or a gun? Which would hurt more?" (His bet was a knife).

"Didn't he have a shield?"

And finally...

"Brodi, what's a double tap?"

And then, as he's trying to figure out how he's supposed to feel, he's all, "So it's okay to celebrate, but not to party."

That's as good a plan as anything I've got.

Anyone have any answers?  All I know is I was relieved when it was time to go to school.

So, where were you on September 11? 

Sam and I were packing our bags for graduate school in London. We had plane tickets for September 12. Needless to say, our flight was postponed.

My Trip to Hurkin, A Woman from Hungary was Hungry, and the Best way to Kill a Red Ant

Word progress for TEAM TAMALE: 7/40,000


Yes, you read that right, but there's a very good reason. I forgot to tell you all that the day after I started the Chimichanga Challenge with Bree Despain, I went on a family vacation. So, the first five days are going to be rough. 


By the way, the seven words I wrote were: "She wakes up and senses a problem." Are you totally intrigued? What problem would she immediately sense? Had she been snoring?


Are you hooked?


... okay, I know. I'm a slacker.


So, I'm out of town in beautiful Hurricane, Utah. (pronounced You-Taw.) Oh, and for those of you not from Utah, "Hurricane" is not pronounced "Hurr-ih-cane." It's pronounced "Hur-Kin". No Foolin'. It's one of those Utah quirks. 


Hurricane is one of the towns near Zions National Park. We paid $20 dollars to get in, to see scenes like this:

but really we spent the day doing this:

Kid C and his cousin Necie. Buried together, just the way the like.

About five minutes into our hike, the kids saw a pile of sand, and 3 hours later we were still there. What is it with kids and sand? Makes me think I should've remodeled our house with sand. It would've saved us a lot of money and provided an endless source of entertainment. Vacuuming would be a thing of the past. 


The only problem would be the red ants. You know what happens to red ants when you stomp on them in the sand? ABSOLUTELY NOTHING! Smothering them in sand doesn't work either. The only thing you can really do is wet the sand under them and then stomp on them, so the wet sand creates a hard surface. 


This technique took me about 3 hours to perfect... after which Kid C, with tears in his eyes, informed me red ants have families too. 

I distracted him by throwing sand in his eyes. Then he was crying for a different reason. A better one.

The crew. Plus two friends.

Kid C was excited to learn that many of the tourists at the park came from different countries. He started asking people where they were from. He got answers like Australia and Jordan, but he was confused when he asked an older woman - who didn't know any english - where she was from.

The woman smiled and motioned to her son to answer Kid C's question, but before the son could interpret, Kid C spoke loudly and slowly to the woman again... "DO... YOU... KNOW... WHERE... YOU'RE... FROM....?"


Because speaking loudly and slowly is the universal language.


The son replied, "Hungary."


Thinking the boy answered "How are you feeling right now," and not "Where are you from", kid C just looked at me and shook his head. He was lost in translation. He gave up.


Blogging will be sporadic this week, as I have discovered that Wi-Fi is not one of the naturally occurring elements in Zion National Park. I still don't understand how it is not universally available. 


How's all y'all's week going? Is it Spring Break for anyone else? Anyone going topless in Cancun?

Three things, A Rant, And the Return of the Great Author Smackdown

Word Progress: 0/40,000*

*This will make sense once you read the blog post.

Hey y'all. Three things on this sunny Friday Morning:

1. A rant.

This morning, I had a doctor's appointment scheduled. I've been waiting six months for this appointment. 

The doctor's office called me several times during the week, warning me not to be late. They are not forgiving of new patients who are late.

About a half hour before the appointment, I received a phone call, telling me the doctor had to cancel because she was off delivering a baby.

That's all fine. So I call back to reschedule, and the office person says the soonest she can fit me in again would be in six weeks. 

What the WHAT? Six weeks? They cancel on me 30 minutes before the appointment, after warning me all week about the dire consequences if I was late, and the soonest they can reschedule is in six weeks?

Does anyone else think that's crazy? 

The scheduler asked me if the end of May was good for me. Because I am not afraid of confrontation, I replied with a scathing "Um, yeah. That should work fine."

Why am I so scared of schedulers? Because my uncle was killed by a scheduler.

Kidding. I suck.

2. Lady of Leisure

Kid C (8 years old) said to me the other day: "Brodi, I think you are the most relaxed person in our family."

me: "What do you mean?"

him: "You don't go to work. You don't go to school." Thoughtful pause. "There must be something you can do..."

3. An Author Smackdown: The Chimichanga Challenge Returns

40,000 words in 21 days. 

Many of you will remember that Everneath came about because of a contest I had with author Bree Despain: The Chimichanga Challenge. It was a race to finish our novels.  (Mine became Everneath, hers was the sequel to The Dark Divine). 

Side note: I can't really remember why we called it the Chimichanga Challenge, but I think it was because we were talking about it in the parking lot of Costco when a strange man tried to sell us tamales out of a zip-lock bag he was carrying.Tamales... Chimichangas.... there you go.

To motivate each other for our current WIPs (Works-in-Progress), we are having another race. Here's the rundown.

Team names remain the same:

Brodi.... Team Tamale

Bree......Team Gluten-Intolerant

Object of the Race:

To reach 40,000 words (in addition to the ones already written) by May 6, 2011. 21 days from now.

The Rules:

a. Never talk about Fight Club.

b. Never get involved in a land war in Asia.

c. Never bury the lead.

The Point:

Brodi finishes EVERNEATH 2

Bree finishes DARK DIVINE 3

We will blog about our progress, and we will trash talk each other. (Can you believe she can't handle dairy products? Wuss.)

And, dear blog readers, you can divide yourselves into teams as well. Join one of our teams, or form your own team and start writing! And contrary to many religious zealots, you can bat for both teams if you want.

Here's the best part: If we all reach 40,000 words in 21 days, we all win! Yay! Winners can treat themselves to whatever they want. Everyone can win!

But I will say: Last time, I totally won. 

So, what do you think? Do you want to form your own team? Do you want to join one of ours? Who do you like better, me or Bree? What do you like better? Tamales or Gluten Free Rice Bread?

Do you think the doctor totally should've squeezed me in before six weeks?

Thing #1 and Thing #1: The Battle is Afoot, and How Kid C really views his Grandpa

It's time for... 

Thing #1 and Thing #1!

Thing #1


My dad started his chemo yesterday. 

My dad, my mom, and my sister. And Jerry Sloan retiring on the television.
And Mr. McDrippy Drip in my Dad's arm. 

Unfortunately, I had popped out for a diet coke when the juice actually started flowing. I was so bummed I didn't get to bellow: "Unleash Hell!"


My dad reassured me that he gave the battle cry, but I'm not sure I believe him. Nobody else in the infusion room was giving us strange looks, and strange looks are a sure sign of spontaneous battle cries.


Oh well. There's always next week. 


Did I mention that one of his chemo drugs is named "5 F-U"? Awesome. 


As a side note, we've been trying to limit our f-bomb usage. We figured people who are asking for miracles shouldn't be spouting the f-bomb right and left. But our replacement name for the tumor- the "Mother Yucker"- lacks a certain panache.    


Thing #1


We were driving in the car the other day, when Kid C says, "Hey! It's Grandpa! Is that Grandpa's store?"


We craned our necks to see what he was referring to. It was this:

I asked Kid C why he thought Colonel Sanders was Grandpa. His response: "He's got white hair... he's got glasses... he has a beard."

I guess I can see it.

So, what are y'all doing this weekend? I turned my latest revisions in yesterday, and pretty soon the book is going to copyedits. We're one step closer! In the hundred step process to getting a book published.

I'm also thinking of going to the Breathless Reads book tour at the SLC Library tomorrow at 2:00 p.m.  Five awesome YA authors in one place? Sign me up! Anyone else going?

My Christmas Break Report: I edited, I swore, and I looked like a Dork

Hey y'all! It's great to be back. I missed you. (Yes, you!)

Things I accomplished over the Christmas break:

1. I edited the boogers out of my manuscript.

It's true. There are no more boogers in it. Now, when it breaths through its nose, there are no more whistling sounds.

2. I only cut myself six times while opening the kids' stupid toys in their stupid packaging. And then I only swore seven times. (An extra one for good measure).

3. I hosted a birthday party for Kid C and about 11 other 8-year-olds at a swimming pool. Because a party isn't a party unless you're risking a life. 

We only like to swim when it's -2 degrees outside.  

(Kid C's birthday party with my husband's family)

Kid C's birthday party with my family. Not quite as big in numbers.

Kid B pointedly NOT swimming

4. Despite having two children who are in their thirties, my mom can still manage to dress us like we're twelve.

Here's us, modeling the presents my mom bought us. 

Yep. Your eyes do not deceive you. She bought us matching hats and scarves, that in turn matched the dog.

5. You wouldn't think someone could pull off looking cool and digging for spare change from the money jar. But Kid C can.

I'm not desperate. I was just sitting here, in my preppy vest, and my hand happened to fall into the money jar. And if I come up with a fistful of coins, I'll just shrug. Whatevs.

 

6. Kid C and Niece N had a sing-off to the tune of "I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas". Nobody died in battle, but some blood was shed. Mostly by the audience, who tried to slit their wrists with wrapping paper.

Battle formations... check.

7. We wore the kids out sledding.

Kid C and Kid B, in a dress rehearsal for the cold weather.

This is no dress rehearsal. It's 2 degrees outside.

Raise a glass... to child labor!

8. The results of number 7:

 Pictures like this stop me from sending Kid B back up the chimney to search for his "real" dad- the fat guy in the red suit.

9. And finally, the ninth thing I accomplished over the holidays...

I made the yuletide gay.

At first, he wanted nothing to do with it, but by the end, he relented.

How was all y'all's holidays?