Seems like most every year I write about my disdain for New Year’s resolutions. You set yourself up for failure, I say. But you know what? I think it’s about time that attitude changes. I mean, personal improvement is a fine goal, and there is no time like the dawning of a new year to kick things off. So while I have passed on New Year’s resolutions in the past, I will make up for the past and make a whole slew of them this year. Of the 10 resolutions below, if I only keep four of them, I will be in Ted Williamsesque rare air.
1. I resolve not to use awkward silence as a response to my wife. It turns out that when my wife offers up a 10-minute discussion of something that happened while she was in line at the drug store, the correct response is, “Wow, how about that?” or something of that ilk. Staring at her – or, even worse, saying, “What’s your point?” – will go bye-bye in 2007.
2. I resolve to accept the fact that children have a force field around them that makes it difficult for sound waves to penetrate their ears. Thus, when I say, “Go make your bed,” I will have a good understanding why the child instead continues trying to fill Mr. Potato Head with Play-Doh.
3. I resolve to purge my dresser of clothes that I have not worn in several years. Perhaps I need to come to grips with the fact that if I am embarrassed to wear a fraternity party T-shirt out in public because of its racy content, it should probably be purged from the stock.
4. I resolve to continue my ever-continuing goal of convincing myself that it’s just sports, life goes on, the sun will rise tomorrow. As a Falcons/Braves/Bama fan, I am thankful for their assistance in this matter through repeated lessons of “life goes on.”
5. I resolve to stick to the grocery list. I will go to the grocery store to pick up milk and will instead come home with, essentially, Kroger. I am not sure how it happens. I just wind through the aisles and stuff just starts appearing in my cart. I am so tired of getting home and having my wife look at the bags and say, “Uh, why did you get four turkeys?” and not have an answer. I don’t know why. So now I will stick to the list. And if “four turkeys” is on the list, I will call my wife and verify that one.
6. I resolve to open the grill before pre-heating it. This may seem like a no-brainer. And I thought I would never have to make such a evolution until last week. I heated the grill up and came out to throw some steaks on. As I approached the grill, I noticed an awkward smell. Definitely not a delicious pre-heated grill smell. When I opened up the grill, I found that the smell was coming from the melting plastic and metal from the grill utensils sitting on the grill getting roasted a balmy 400 degrees. For what it’s worth, I was able to clean the grill so that the steaks were not marinated in melted plastic.
7. I resolve to fix the towel rack once and for all. There are two towel racks in our bathroom, and one has been targeted for destruction by, I can only assume, my children. Every time I put it up, I walk in moments later to find it on the ground. On occasion, I find it being incorporated into a sword fight, which I immediately stop the moment my wife appears or someone draws blood. But I am going to put the rack back up, and I will anchor it to a wall stud and put video surveillance on it and, if I have to, stake Murphy the Attack Dachshund to protect it.
8. I resolve to figure out how to sell things on eBay. Fact of the matter is I am not going to listen to a CD of some band I absolutely loved in college but can’t even stand at this point, so there is no reason to keep an enormous box of CDs hanging around. I admit it. I’m old. And I might as well make a coin or two for someone who is just dying to learn about the Icelandic sensation “The Sugarcubes.”
9. I resolve to clean my garage and keep it clean. Hey, sometimes you make resolutions you have no plan on keeping. I feel obliged to include one as well.
10. I resolve to stick with decaf. I love my coffee. But when I had to give up caffeine last year, I had to kick my old friend to the curb. I have finally found some decaf I can like, and am even starting to look forward to my morning cup. I miss my old friend caffeine, but at least the coffee is back.
So I wish you well on your resolutions in 2007. I recommend that you, too, make as many resolutions as you can so that you are all but guaranteed some success in the New Year. It’s not about the six you won’t keep, but the four that you will.
Happy New Year!
Friday, December 29, 2006
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Millennium Falcon moment
When was your Millennium Falcon moment?
I was talking with some college buddies the other day, and we were recounting the single greatest Christmas moments of our youth. By my count, 140 percent of the respondents said getting a Millennium Falcon. For guys my age, getting Han Solo’s super cool space ship toy is the ultimate Christmas memory. It is the item we reflect back on that sums up the excitement, the anticipation, the magic of Christmas. (Most of us put the Death Star as a close second.)
I asked my wife what her Millennium Falcon moment was, and she told me that every year, her mother would give her a porcelain doll, and she could not wait to find out which one she would get for her collection. Porcelain dolls are fine and all, but it is nowhere near as cool as the Millennium Falcon. Does a porcelain doll have a trap door to hide Han, Chewbacca and Luke Skywalker? I didn’t think so.
Anyway it is with eager anticipation that I gear up for Christmas, hoping to find what my kids’ Millennium Falcon Moment will be. Parker is 3, so he doesn’t have a singular thing he is geared up for Santa to bring him. Ask him from day to day what he wants, and it will change. Often, he says he wants Superman. And I don’t think he wants an action figure. I think he actually wants us to bring him Superman. He’s either a big fan or Lex Luther.
He’s really into bugs, so I am sure lots of his Christmas presents will center around that. Given his druthers, Parker would rather be outside, turning over logs and finding things to put in his bug house. Odd side note: The other day, he was carrying around a dead beetle in his pocket. (Not a dead Beatle. That would be weird). Anywho, I asked him the beetle’s name. Without so much as a pause, he said, “Hoo-Hoo Lava Jam Jesus.” Figuring he was just stringing together words, I asked him about an hour later what the beetle’s name was. Hoo-Hoo Lava Jam Jesus. We are two days removed, and he still answers unequivocally, Hoo-Hoo Lava Jam Jesus. I have no clue what to make of the name. Just figured I’d share.
The other thing he really loves is riding his Big Wheel, so the next logical step will be to from three wheels to two. Or, four, I guess, since it’s not very nice to put a kid on two wheels and just let him fall over.
Regardless of what Parker finds under the tree Christmas morning, it’s a safe bet that he will not have that Millennium Falcon moment. He’s still young, and he still gets excited regardless of the manner of presentation when he gets gifts. To a 3-year-old, Christmas and birthdays are not reserved for gift giving. Rather, it’s that every day should be for that, and they really don’t totally understand why EVERY day isn’t a day in which Matchbox cars magically appear.
Allie, however, could be approaching her Millennium Falcon moment. If it’s not this year, it will probably be in the next couple. She is uber-excited about Christmas, and is counting down the days.
Her Christmas list is growing quite lengthy, and I am to blame for much of that. I made the mistake a few weekends ago of letting her turn the television on one Saturday morning. Normally, this is not a problem, because she usually watches Disney or PBS, meaning no commercials. Network Saturday morning? Not so much. It did not take her long to come sprinting to me, almost out of breath. “DADDY – I have GOT to get Barbie: 12 Dancing Princesses and a Makeover Magic Camera and ...” At that point, it became all white noise. For what seemed like about 11 days, she rattled off toy after toy after toy, complete with a description of just HOW AWESOME!!! it really is and how she has GOT TO HAVE IT!!!!
Finally, I stopped her. “Allie. You need to take a breath. It’s been all exhale.”
I managed to remember 40-50 of the things that she told me about, which I relayed to her mother, who is our household’s Chief Santa Liaison (CSL). I was CSL for my daughter’s first Christmas. When a football and a baseball mitt came down the chimney, I was stripped of my title.
It’s probably better that my wife handles the CSL duties at this stage, since I get a little overwhelmed when shopping for her. If you have never shopped for gifts for a 6-year-old girl, I will let you know this: Roughly 85 percent of the world’s commercial products are geared for this demographic. There will never be a time when someone can honestly say, “I just couldn’t find a thing for a 6-year-old girl.” There could, however, be a time when someone says, “I just kept adding and adding and adding until the cart was piled 42-feet high, and in a flash I was covered in an avalanche of Barbie and My Little Pony.”
Regardless of what Christmas morning brings, I know this much to be true: My children’s eyes will light up at the wonders under the tree, and that’s a Millennium Falcon moment for me.
I was talking with some college buddies the other day, and we were recounting the single greatest Christmas moments of our youth. By my count, 140 percent of the respondents said getting a Millennium Falcon. For guys my age, getting Han Solo’s super cool space ship toy is the ultimate Christmas memory. It is the item we reflect back on that sums up the excitement, the anticipation, the magic of Christmas. (Most of us put the Death Star as a close second.)
I asked my wife what her Millennium Falcon moment was, and she told me that every year, her mother would give her a porcelain doll, and she could not wait to find out which one she would get for her collection. Porcelain dolls are fine and all, but it is nowhere near as cool as the Millennium Falcon. Does a porcelain doll have a trap door to hide Han, Chewbacca and Luke Skywalker? I didn’t think so.
Anyway it is with eager anticipation that I gear up for Christmas, hoping to find what my kids’ Millennium Falcon Moment will be. Parker is 3, so he doesn’t have a singular thing he is geared up for Santa to bring him. Ask him from day to day what he wants, and it will change. Often, he says he wants Superman. And I don’t think he wants an action figure. I think he actually wants us to bring him Superman. He’s either a big fan or Lex Luther.
He’s really into bugs, so I am sure lots of his Christmas presents will center around that. Given his druthers, Parker would rather be outside, turning over logs and finding things to put in his bug house. Odd side note: The other day, he was carrying around a dead beetle in his pocket. (Not a dead Beatle. That would be weird). Anywho, I asked him the beetle’s name. Without so much as a pause, he said, “Hoo-Hoo Lava Jam Jesus.” Figuring he was just stringing together words, I asked him about an hour later what the beetle’s name was. Hoo-Hoo Lava Jam Jesus. We are two days removed, and he still answers unequivocally, Hoo-Hoo Lava Jam Jesus. I have no clue what to make of the name. Just figured I’d share.
The other thing he really loves is riding his Big Wheel, so the next logical step will be to from three wheels to two. Or, four, I guess, since it’s not very nice to put a kid on two wheels and just let him fall over.
Regardless of what Parker finds under the tree Christmas morning, it’s a safe bet that he will not have that Millennium Falcon moment. He’s still young, and he still gets excited regardless of the manner of presentation when he gets gifts. To a 3-year-old, Christmas and birthdays are not reserved for gift giving. Rather, it’s that every day should be for that, and they really don’t totally understand why EVERY day isn’t a day in which Matchbox cars magically appear.
Allie, however, could be approaching her Millennium Falcon moment. If it’s not this year, it will probably be in the next couple. She is uber-excited about Christmas, and is counting down the days.
Her Christmas list is growing quite lengthy, and I am to blame for much of that. I made the mistake a few weekends ago of letting her turn the television on one Saturday morning. Normally, this is not a problem, because she usually watches Disney or PBS, meaning no commercials. Network Saturday morning? Not so much. It did not take her long to come sprinting to me, almost out of breath. “DADDY – I have GOT to get Barbie: 12 Dancing Princesses and a Makeover Magic Camera and ...” At that point, it became all white noise. For what seemed like about 11 days, she rattled off toy after toy after toy, complete with a description of just HOW AWESOME!!! it really is and how she has GOT TO HAVE IT!!!!
Finally, I stopped her. “Allie. You need to take a breath. It’s been all exhale.”
I managed to remember 40-50 of the things that she told me about, which I relayed to her mother, who is our household’s Chief Santa Liaison (CSL). I was CSL for my daughter’s first Christmas. When a football and a baseball mitt came down the chimney, I was stripped of my title.
It’s probably better that my wife handles the CSL duties at this stage, since I get a little overwhelmed when shopping for her. If you have never shopped for gifts for a 6-year-old girl, I will let you know this: Roughly 85 percent of the world’s commercial products are geared for this demographic. There will never be a time when someone can honestly say, “I just couldn’t find a thing for a 6-year-old girl.” There could, however, be a time when someone says, “I just kept adding and adding and adding until the cart was piled 42-feet high, and in a flash I was covered in an avalanche of Barbie and My Little Pony.”
Regardless of what Christmas morning brings, I know this much to be true: My children’s eyes will light up at the wonders under the tree, and that’s a Millennium Falcon moment for me.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Makeup Wakeup
I can honestly say it is the first time I have said to my wife, “Does my eyeliner look OK?”
But if I am going to do my Streisand show, by-gum I’m gonna do it right!
Ha! A little humor there to deflect my innate discomfort at wearing makeup! Just ol’ guy’s guy Mike joking with you!
Sigh. Yes, I am finally getting used to wearing makeup, as it is required for the play I am in. I was told that if I did not wear make-up, the stage lights would make my face look like a big white blob with two black dots. I was not sold. My wife then told me, “You have no choice.” Sold.
Truth of the matter is I didn’t so much have an issue with wearing it. The problem I had is that I have the artistic ability of a goat. Putting on make-up is, essentially, the equivalent of painting your face, and I am never going to win a “color inside the lines” contest.
I decided I would give it a go, though, because I am a trooper. That, and no one offered to help. I was told that I needed to put on base or powder or something like that on my face. “Get rid of the shine,” I was told. Also, I had to apply eyeliner around my eyes, which seems like a ridiculous thing to do. I have used pencils all my life and NEVER found a good reason to stick one right up under my eyeball.
When I emerged from my first makeup application attempt, I could tell by the reactions that I had not done a very good job. Most people kinda cocked their heads to the side and said “Awwww...” like they were looking at a 2-year-old who was trying to dress himself but was instead wearing a lamp shade and a pillow case.
Apparently, my big mistakes were (a) applying the base stuff WAY too thick and (b) putting on the eyeliner much the same way an athlete applies the black steaks under his eyes, except all the way around my eyes. I kinda resembled the love child of a raccoon and a half-baked gingerbread man.
It didn’t take long for someone to take pity on me. Several women, my wife included, decided to take on my makeup application. I’m not saying this was my plan all along, but I do note that on the times I have shopped for clothes for my wife, I have gotten a similar reaction. I walk up to a sales clerk, hold up, say, a shoe-shine kit, and say, “Do you think my wife will like this?” Bam – instant personal shopper.
So my wife was in charge of applying the base and powder, while the mother of a cast member took on the eyeliner task. When people asked why I had two people working on my makeup, I explained that as important as I am, I needed a makeup team. My makeup team would respond, “We’re not his team. He’s incompetent.”
On a couple of occasions, several other cast members would let me know that the base and eyeliner was not enough. “You need cheeks,” they would tell me. I was fairly certain I had cheeks, but they were not convinced, and before I knew what was going on, someone was coming at me with a brush and something they called “fig.”
Another fun little joke they would play on me was to tell me I needed lipstick. Yes, lipstick. “We can’t see your lips,” they would say. I think this is complete and total nonsense, and I was not going to be tricked into putting on lipstick. Never. Ever. At least not the stuff with glitter.
One of the toughest things about having to put on stage makeup was facing my friends afterwards. After one performance, I got home, scrubbed my face with Easy-Off and a Brillo pad, and decided to head over to my neighbors’ house, where several friends were enjoying a cold beverage. I walked into his garage bar, where guys were sitting around, playing poker, throwing darts. It’s our clubhouse, if you will. Our inner sanctum. And then someone looks at me and says, “Uh, you missed a little eyeliner there, beautiful.” Yes, nothing collapses the time-honored tradition of guys being guys like one of said guys coming in wearing eyeliner. I might as well have walked in made up like Tammy Faye Baker. I suspect I will be living that one down, oh, right about the time the earth crashes into the sun.
Truth be told, I know that it is a necessity of being on stage to wear makeup. The grief that I take comes with the territory of being a guy. And if there is one thing I know, it’s that I have given out my fair share of grief to my friends, so I really have to take it.
As the performances continue, I have the routine fairly down pat, and I am flinching far less when the eyeliner is being applied. While not something I will ever be completely accustomed to, I know it’s a necessity for being in a play. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some Christmas shopping to do. I am thinking my wife would love a shoe-shine kit...
But if I am going to do my Streisand show, by-gum I’m gonna do it right!
Ha! A little humor there to deflect my innate discomfort at wearing makeup! Just ol’ guy’s guy Mike joking with you!
Sigh. Yes, I am finally getting used to wearing makeup, as it is required for the play I am in. I was told that if I did not wear make-up, the stage lights would make my face look like a big white blob with two black dots. I was not sold. My wife then told me, “You have no choice.” Sold.
Truth of the matter is I didn’t so much have an issue with wearing it. The problem I had is that I have the artistic ability of a goat. Putting on make-up is, essentially, the equivalent of painting your face, and I am never going to win a “color inside the lines” contest.
I decided I would give it a go, though, because I am a trooper. That, and no one offered to help. I was told that I needed to put on base or powder or something like that on my face. “Get rid of the shine,” I was told. Also, I had to apply eyeliner around my eyes, which seems like a ridiculous thing to do. I have used pencils all my life and NEVER found a good reason to stick one right up under my eyeball.
When I emerged from my first makeup application attempt, I could tell by the reactions that I had not done a very good job. Most people kinda cocked their heads to the side and said “Awwww...” like they were looking at a 2-year-old who was trying to dress himself but was instead wearing a lamp shade and a pillow case.
Apparently, my big mistakes were (a) applying the base stuff WAY too thick and (b) putting on the eyeliner much the same way an athlete applies the black steaks under his eyes, except all the way around my eyes. I kinda resembled the love child of a raccoon and a half-baked gingerbread man.
It didn’t take long for someone to take pity on me. Several women, my wife included, decided to take on my makeup application. I’m not saying this was my plan all along, but I do note that on the times I have shopped for clothes for my wife, I have gotten a similar reaction. I walk up to a sales clerk, hold up, say, a shoe-shine kit, and say, “Do you think my wife will like this?” Bam – instant personal shopper.
So my wife was in charge of applying the base and powder, while the mother of a cast member took on the eyeliner task. When people asked why I had two people working on my makeup, I explained that as important as I am, I needed a makeup team. My makeup team would respond, “We’re not his team. He’s incompetent.”
On a couple of occasions, several other cast members would let me know that the base and eyeliner was not enough. “You need cheeks,” they would tell me. I was fairly certain I had cheeks, but they were not convinced, and before I knew what was going on, someone was coming at me with a brush and something they called “fig.”
Another fun little joke they would play on me was to tell me I needed lipstick. Yes, lipstick. “We can’t see your lips,” they would say. I think this is complete and total nonsense, and I was not going to be tricked into putting on lipstick. Never. Ever. At least not the stuff with glitter.
One of the toughest things about having to put on stage makeup was facing my friends afterwards. After one performance, I got home, scrubbed my face with Easy-Off and a Brillo pad, and decided to head over to my neighbors’ house, where several friends were enjoying a cold beverage. I walked into his garage bar, where guys were sitting around, playing poker, throwing darts. It’s our clubhouse, if you will. Our inner sanctum. And then someone looks at me and says, “Uh, you missed a little eyeliner there, beautiful.” Yes, nothing collapses the time-honored tradition of guys being guys like one of said guys coming in wearing eyeliner. I might as well have walked in made up like Tammy Faye Baker. I suspect I will be living that one down, oh, right about the time the earth crashes into the sun.
Truth be told, I know that it is a necessity of being on stage to wear makeup. The grief that I take comes with the territory of being a guy. And if there is one thing I know, it’s that I have given out my fair share of grief to my friends, so I really have to take it.
As the performances continue, I have the routine fairly down pat, and I am flinching far less when the eyeliner is being applied. While not something I will ever be completely accustomed to, I know it’s a necessity for being in a play. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some Christmas shopping to do. I am thinking my wife would love a shoe-shine kit...
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Light it up
So there I was, perched atop the ladder, when I looked out over my neighborhood and saw three other neighbors on their ladders. And all I could think to myself was, “We’re idiots.”
Yes, every year we trot out the ladders and the lights to decorate our homes for Christmas. We live in a cul-de-sac, so you can’t be the one house in the neighborhood that doesn’t decorate, lest you look like this enormous anti-Christmas black hole.
Several neighbors trimmed their roof lines with lights, something I did a couple of years ago. I no longer do this for a couple of reasons: (1) I have not developed the ability to hover and (2) I saw a neighbor fall off his ladder two years ago and break his ankle.
It was one of the surreal moments. Another neighbor and I were standing in our respective yards and heard that horrible sound of a ladder sliding against the roof. Anyone who has ever been on a ladder knows the sound. Even if the ladder shifts a millionth of an inch, it gives the little grating noise that immediately jump-starts your brain to thinking. ‘WE’RE GONNA FALL!!!!” (Same thing happens when you’re on the roof, take a step, and a little of the roof grit gives way.)
So we heard the sound and looked up just in time to see him go splat. We both sprinted over to him (we were both holding out kids, who were 1 at the time, so it was more of a brisk walk) to see if he was OK. I am not sure how much help we thought we could have been since we were both holding babies. Perhaps drool has a magical curing ability.
Several neighbors opted for a new approach this year, which required some ladder use, but not full-out extension ladder/plummet-to-your-death potential. Using a really long pole, they extended the lights up to roof and inserted a special clip under the shingle. While it took some effort to navigate a 30-foot pole, it seemed to beat the alternative, which was walking with a limp. Of course, you do have to be careful that the extension cord you use to test the lights doesn’t tug on the recently strung roof lights, lest your two hours of work come crashing down on you. I was not there when it happened, so when I heard about it my initial inclination was to laugh hysterically. But to the witnesses who saw it happen, there was nothing funny at all. No jokes were made. No eye contact was made. Everyone just kinda backed away. I talked to my neighbor about it later, and it sounded like he was moments away from actually tearing his house down just so he could stomp on his roof line.
Eventually, he got his lights back up, and I highly recommend the lights stay up, lest they get a Hulk-style smashing. Ah, Christmas joy!
As for our house, since we’re not doing the roof line thing, we do it pretty simple. I only had to get on the ladder to hang a wreath over the porch, so my time off the ground was minimal.
The main thing we do is to cover the bushes with net lights, which are one of the greatest inventions of all time. Each year after Christmas, I try and pick up a couple of them on the cheap. Eventually, I want my yard to look like a giant lighted safety net.
I always let the kids help me when I decorate, and it follows a fairly familiar script: (1) I pull all of the boxes out of the attic, and the kids get all excited about decorating, and (2) I turn around to close up the attic, and turn back around to see that, in four seconds, they have removed the contents of all of the boxes and spread the contents around the house. This year was no different, and after I corralled the lights and tried unsuccessfully to argue with Parker on some of his decorating choices (“Fine, the snowman cookie jar goes on the couch”), I headed outside.
While net lights offer a convenience that traditional strands of light do not (namely, you don’t have to deal with tangles and ultimately end up saying things that your children shouldn’t hear), there is one drawback. The first part in net lights is “net,” and when little hands and feet are involved, the net aspect works quite well. About a third of the decorating time was spent freeing children from the nets. It’s like trying to put up lights with salmon jumping at you.
After not too much time, my modest little attempt at lighting the house for Christmas was completed. Sure, it doesn’t compete with the grand displays of some of my neighbors. But, since my house is lighted to some degree, at least the cul-de-sac on the whole looks complete. And I didn’t get a limp in the process, so I’d say all is right with the season.
Yes, every year we trot out the ladders and the lights to decorate our homes for Christmas. We live in a cul-de-sac, so you can’t be the one house in the neighborhood that doesn’t decorate, lest you look like this enormous anti-Christmas black hole.
Several neighbors trimmed their roof lines with lights, something I did a couple of years ago. I no longer do this for a couple of reasons: (1) I have not developed the ability to hover and (2) I saw a neighbor fall off his ladder two years ago and break his ankle.
It was one of the surreal moments. Another neighbor and I were standing in our respective yards and heard that horrible sound of a ladder sliding against the roof. Anyone who has ever been on a ladder knows the sound. Even if the ladder shifts a millionth of an inch, it gives the little grating noise that immediately jump-starts your brain to thinking. ‘WE’RE GONNA FALL!!!!” (Same thing happens when you’re on the roof, take a step, and a little of the roof grit gives way.)
So we heard the sound and looked up just in time to see him go splat. We both sprinted over to him (we were both holding out kids, who were 1 at the time, so it was more of a brisk walk) to see if he was OK. I am not sure how much help we thought we could have been since we were both holding babies. Perhaps drool has a magical curing ability.
Several neighbors opted for a new approach this year, which required some ladder use, but not full-out extension ladder/plummet-to-your-death potential. Using a really long pole, they extended the lights up to roof and inserted a special clip under the shingle. While it took some effort to navigate a 30-foot pole, it seemed to beat the alternative, which was walking with a limp. Of course, you do have to be careful that the extension cord you use to test the lights doesn’t tug on the recently strung roof lights, lest your two hours of work come crashing down on you. I was not there when it happened, so when I heard about it my initial inclination was to laugh hysterically. But to the witnesses who saw it happen, there was nothing funny at all. No jokes were made. No eye contact was made. Everyone just kinda backed away. I talked to my neighbor about it later, and it sounded like he was moments away from actually tearing his house down just so he could stomp on his roof line.
Eventually, he got his lights back up, and I highly recommend the lights stay up, lest they get a Hulk-style smashing. Ah, Christmas joy!
As for our house, since we’re not doing the roof line thing, we do it pretty simple. I only had to get on the ladder to hang a wreath over the porch, so my time off the ground was minimal.
The main thing we do is to cover the bushes with net lights, which are one of the greatest inventions of all time. Each year after Christmas, I try and pick up a couple of them on the cheap. Eventually, I want my yard to look like a giant lighted safety net.
I always let the kids help me when I decorate, and it follows a fairly familiar script: (1) I pull all of the boxes out of the attic, and the kids get all excited about decorating, and (2) I turn around to close up the attic, and turn back around to see that, in four seconds, they have removed the contents of all of the boxes and spread the contents around the house. This year was no different, and after I corralled the lights and tried unsuccessfully to argue with Parker on some of his decorating choices (“Fine, the snowman cookie jar goes on the couch”), I headed outside.
While net lights offer a convenience that traditional strands of light do not (namely, you don’t have to deal with tangles and ultimately end up saying things that your children shouldn’t hear), there is one drawback. The first part in net lights is “net,” and when little hands and feet are involved, the net aspect works quite well. About a third of the decorating time was spent freeing children from the nets. It’s like trying to put up lights with salmon jumping at you.
After not too much time, my modest little attempt at lighting the house for Christmas was completed. Sure, it doesn’t compete with the grand displays of some of my neighbors. But, since my house is lighted to some degree, at least the cul-de-sac on the whole looks complete. And I didn’t get a limp in the process, so I’d say all is right with the season.
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