Currently Reading:

Desert Solitaire
by Edward Abbey

Burnin' the Yule

Those of you who don’t have calendars, families, or contact with the outside world may not be aware, but there was a holiday this week. It’s called “Christ-Mas”, and it’s a time of year for shooting marshmellows out of your nose, playing dissonant ocarina music, engaging in deadly combat, and passing out under the piano. Truly a magical season.

This year, the clan came to my place, which meant no matching napkin holders and a tree made out of spare parts, but nobody seemed to miss all of that too much. The primary attraction, of course, was The Larvae, aka “Sharkypants”. For a guy who poops his pants multiple times per day, he’s pretty all right. We got along fine, anyway. Give him a few years, and I’m confident that his uncles will have him drinking and cursing like a champ, if he hasn’t been quarantined from us by then.

After dinner, we did a bit of token gift-swapping, but mostly just played games and hung out. Looks like we really are past the buying-lots-of-crap thing, at least until The Larvae becomes interested in things that don’t secrete milk. I’m going to start socking money away for his first drum kit. Merry Christmas, Mom!

In all, ’twas a fine holiday season. A shame we only do it once a year. Anyway, the full photo spread lives here.

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