Blogging has been lighter than usual the past few days because we just staggered through an action-packed weekend. My mom and stepdad came up Friday night for a birthday dinner in her honor and spent the night. Good time had by all, including kids. Went to Chapel Hill Saturday for goddaughter Tiny E’s seventh birthday party. More good times, if by good times, you mean, “Fifteen sugar-fueled, screaming first-grade girls running through the house at high speed and high volume.” We came back afterward just in time to leave the kids with a sitter and go out to dinner. But there was no movie playing that we really wanted to see and started early enough so that we could be home before midnight, even though we went to dinner at 5:15. So we went shopping instead — and those of you who know me well know I am all about the shopping — and went home.
I took the kids to church on Sunday while Ann prepared to have her staff over for a little get-together, which was delightful. After that, we braced for Victoria’s Christmas party, delayed from last weekend because of the ice storm. Nineteen toddlers, plus one 9-year-old brother, showed up, as did Santa Claus (actually a co-worker in costume). For the record, 4 is the perfect age for kids to interact with Santa: They’re old enough not to be intimidated yet still young enough to be enthusiastic. All in all, it was good times, if by good times you mean, “Nineteen sugar-fueled, screaming 4-year-olds running laps around the first floor of the house.” Fortunately, there were adult beverages, and, yes, I had a large one.
While tending to various party-host duties, I overheard a number of conversations, the most interesting of which — and this isn’t saying much — went something like this (some identifying details withheld):
Dad1: Where’s (your wife)?
Dad2: She took (younger daughter) over to a session meeting at the church.
Dad2: Yeah. You know, the elders of the church. Hey, you’re a (denomination), too. They’ve got a session at (your church).
Dad1: Yeah. OK. Just that around my house, “session” means something entirely different, and it is NOT something you take the kids to.
Well, OK, then.
Ann finished her course last week and is class-free ’til late January, if by “class-free” you mean “going to Europe for two weeks in January for a global-management credit and totally leaving me with the kids.” (Actually, I volunteered to stay, not least because we can’t afford to send both of us; besides, I’d get no academic credit.) And now that Sunday’s parties are over, we get to coast the rest of the way into the holidays, if, by “coast,” you mean “obtain appropriate gift for spouse and take the kids to shop for presents for spouse also.”
It’s crunch time at work — our already-early production schedule moves up even farther during the holidays — so I’m a blaze of editing activity this week. The good side is, next week and the following week I’ll have more time to twiddle my thumbs as we return to a regular schedule, if, by “twiddle my thumbs,” I mean “edit one or 1 1/2 days’ worth of copy per day instead of 2 to 2 1/2 days’ worth per day.” Wasn’t it Socrates who insisted on defining one’s terms? Or maybe it was Trent Lott. Whichever.