Christmas 2007

I said I thought we should start a family band like the Partridge family.  So the next night I come home to find them in the bunkroom giggling hysterically.  “What are you doing?”  “Practicing for the band,” they squeal between giggles.  Cooper – “Dad, Dad, wait, ok, wait,  ok listen to this” hysterical laughter “ok, ok, Ben  – ha ha ha – ok, one, two, three” and then they both fart in unison.  I roll my eyes to the ceiling.  There is a soccer ball print. 

The ceiling with the soccer ball print is now in Concord Massachusetts.   Conveniently, we are with it.  2007 started with us watching a NY accented George Washington cross the Delaware River basically in a humongous bathtub propelled by 40-foot oars and it is coming to a close with us surrounded by a whole other group of Colonial soldiers who occasionally forget that colonists didn’t have blackberries.  And that’s not all that’s new.

“Dad, do you think that the baby (4th boy by the way – arriving in Jan) controls Mom’s brain?  That, like, the baby wants popcorn, so he can, like, tell Mom’s brain, I WANT POPCORN, and then she wants popcorn?”  This actually made me think for a minute.  In fact, this would kind of explain a lot.  “What?”  Cooper and I looked over at Mom.  “Nothing.”   Cooper grins.  This is a terrible thing to say but at this minute he reminds me of the witch in Cinderella because his one front tooth is hanging on for dear life.  And in doing so is totally horizontal to his face.  Snaggle tooth doesn’t really describe it.  More like “I am not leaving, so piss off” tooth.

Ben’s teacher said he was serious and Cooper’s teacher said he was shy.  It was like I could see her lips moving but really found myself wondering if I had walked into the wrong conference.  My mind wandered back to breakfast where Ben was trying to tell a story and started laughing so much that he shot yogurt through his nose and Cooper was  so enamored with his hair styling of the morning that he ran down to the kitchen naked, singing into his toothbrush. 

Griffin I really think I could exploit for cash.  I don’t know how he learned to read but you lose control of your world pretty quickly when the 2 foot tall 3 yr old watches you scroll through the tv guide and yells “ooh, ooh, I want to watch National Geographic Extreme Expeditions.”  I try to claim that it is my DNA but Polly points out that it was more likely my DNA delivered the, ah, activities of the first paragraph.

Polly – the angel that keeps the music of the family synchronized and melodic – and just off the edge of being crazed, is holding a very pregnant tummy and still making 132 muffins for her book clubs of 6 women who barely eat pea shells.  And I am now spending my professional hours convincing mostly middle-aged women to play solitaire for cash.  Figure that. 

And we adventure our way to the close of another year.  We are blessed to have each other; we are blessed to be surrounded by laughter, and we are blessed to have you in our lives.  I can universally say that we wish our paths crossed more often so anytime you are in Boston and would like to visit the farting Partridge band, well, we would love to see you.  Happy Holidays!


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