crumbs

Among the more irritating trends: sporting activities as markers of personal identity. One sees it particularly in college towns and upper-class suburbs: cars with "Lax" on the back, or conspicuously displaying Appalachian Trail decals, or "26.2" decals. Related to these: bike racks, kayak racks, ski racks, etc. I'm guilty of the bike rack thing, since I often need to be rescued if/when a tire goes down, and I'll admit that cycling is one of the most cultlike of all. Still, I hope I don't go around trying to present myself as a "cyclist" rather than a "guy who likes to ride his bike." I guess that means no decals on the back of the car. The same goes for the names of my children, or my chosen brand of firearm or camouflage or guitar or computer.

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I did the unthinkable and went to the mall on the day after Christmas. I had a few important transactions to make. It was an absolute zoo. There were payoffs for the effort, though.

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We have spent a week at the grandparents' house. Thankfully, it's a big house with lots of space for two (three, what with Cousin D) little boys. Also, a remarkably patient pair of grandparents.

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I'm anxious for the new year, for all kinds of reasons.

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Other notes from this past week:

• The Little Boy made a gingerbread train with Honey . . . I doubt it will be eaten.
• We are hoping we avoided a repeat of last year's Thomas the Tank Engine debacle, wherein we bought a ton of Thomas stuff for The Little Boy, only to have him lose interest almost immediately after Christmas.
• Straaannge weather. Started out cold and stormy, but today it's damp and 75.
  
• The Little Boy's favorite present may be the $1.50 Batman mask, followed by the Legos.
• I've not been able to eat nearly enough.
  

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I've actually been kind of sad this season, and I can't really explain why. There are no material reasons I can determine why I should be sad--hence the ending lines from a post a few days ago. Still, there it is. For once, though, I've not tried to guilt myself into feeling any other way. It has been a fine holiday; so what if it wasn't The Best Christmas Ever? Giving up on that pressure has been an enormous relief. Plus, I think that for the Little Boy, it may have indeed been the Best Christmas Ever.

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Now thinking about the return home (which I'm looking forward to, honestly), cracking open a new book, sitting in my horrendously ugly chair with one of the cats draped across the back of it. We'll be busy--preparing for more guests--but I'll be okay. heh