So on Christmas Day, my wife got up at o'-dark-thirty with me still in my sleeping cap or whatever, and went out to the front stoop to get some logs to start the fire. All festive and traditional, right? Well, what before her wondering eyes should appear, but a crow dive-bombing across the front door, proclaiming its territory with a blood-curdling, "Caaawww!".
Well this got the dog going. Out it goes, barking its head off, ready to give that nasty crow what-for. It being o'-dark-thirty, my wife as quietly as possible, but still urgently, somehow manages to get the dog in the house & to stop waking up the neighborhood.
She then takes the wood to the fireplace & lights the fire. Woopsy, forgot to open the flue. But it's open now, and isn't this festive and soothing and–
"BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP…!"
More scurrying and I dunno, potential under-the-breath cursing, as the fire alarm is ripped off of the wall and beaten to a sonorous "BEEPBEEP!*squeak!*BEEP!*squee-ink!*BEEPBEEPBEEP!*squo-o-onk!*" death.
I roll over, growl like a bear roused from his wintery slumber, and go stumble into the bathroom. I mumble a heartfelt, but sleep-addled "Merry Christmas!" to the room (currently my pregnant wife -listening for two?- and the dog) and schlep over to the couch, readying myself for wrapping paper carnage.
Evidently, my wife had been up elving as quietly as possible, when all the holiday cacophony ensued. "What got you up?" I asked, squinting blearily from one almost-awake eye.
"Oh, the baby… It started kicking at 5:30."
Great. So we've got a child coming into the world, who is already waking us up early on Christmas morning AND WILL FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE…
---
Oh and by the way, for the dog, my parents got (saying it was from their cats) a multi-segmented plush snake, which makes squeaking and squonking noises much like the dying fire alarm (which, don't worry, has been resurrected, just slightly the worse for shushing mom-to-be wear). What we like about it, is that the dog whines along with the squeaking, an honor she bestows only on those few chewable toys she truly loves (we imagine she must be trying to talk to them about how much she loves them).
But what I believe we were intended to hate about it, was the lurid ridiculousness of the squawking sounds. I believe it may have been to get back at me for when I was a young child who got a fireman hat with a built-in spinning light and "WooWooWOOWOOWOOwoowoo…!" siren that I happily ran around the house through the minefields of discarded wrapping paper, playing with. The next day, it was discovered to be "broken", and inexplicably lighter by about the amount of a couple of D-cells.
"The cats" also got her a hardy, dog-chewable rubber chicken with an improbably high squeak to it. I'm sure my Dad insisted be a real, "traditional" rubber chicken, but I'm equally sure my stepmother realized a dog (unlike a cat? well maybe, but you haven't met their cats…) would shred and eat in two seconds flat, leaving oil slicks (or worse) all over the back yard, whenever it was let out to do its business.
And on that note is where I will leave this Boxing Day post. Happy Holidays!
Monday, December 26, 2011
Saturday, December 24, 2011
Fountains of Fun!
So I'm bursting to share an idea that's sure to make a splash. It's a new social networking site full of frothy, bubbling potential called the "You're In!" Nation. Follow friends on their Stream, run around tagging things for yourself, even update one-handed on your mobile device, while your other hand is occupied keeping things flowing straight. Once you're in, you're golden!
What?
What?
I'm kinda nervous speaking in front of crowds, but…
My wife today asked me to "address the laundry situation," so I stood in front of the hamper, cleared my throat, and began, "Four score and seven years ago…".
She was not impressed.
She was not impressed.
Wednesday, December 21, 2011
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