Going off-line for a while
I'm here right now because I'm putting off going out to find a turkey. I know that the longer I put this off, the worse the experience will be, and the less likely it will be that we'll get a bird at all. Someone forgot to order our fresh, free-range drug-free bird. I think it might have been me. Someone left his shopping until the last possible second. That was me as well. It's unusual for me, but it's been a helluva year.
Not that I'm a very frequent blogger these days, nor do I have a huge audience (but a nice, dedicated, mostly anonymous one -- thanks for visiting. I don't know who you are (mostly) and I don't know why you come, but the fact that you show up so regularly and seem interested suggests that we'd probably like one another a lot if we met. I like the idea that the world is filled with potential friends), but I've decided to try to limit my screen time a bit over the holidays. Holidays for me will be fairly short, so I want to maximize the downtime, the intimacy with family, the quiet reflection (once I figure out how to make two toddlers reflect quietly).
I'll leave you for now with what will likely be one of our most cherished family stories of this season for many years to come.
Yesterday was our Asian wonderchild's preschool holiday concert. We showed up early, with toddler boy and blonde hippie girl in tow. We sat in the back row so that we'd be able to stand up to take pix without worrying about whose view was being blocked behind us. The teachers had set up a row of tiny chairs for us, and toddler boy and hippie girl climbed up on the chairs to see the show. As the first number drew to a close to wildly enthusiastic applause from the audience, the people in the row in front of me stood and leaned forward for a better view. I moved forward a bit, too, thus leaving toddler boy alone, standing on a chair, with nothing else to rein in his wild exuberance than a zoned out little hippie girl standing beside him, completely taken in by the sparkling decor.
As the second musical number revved up, I felt a little tug on my arm. It was hippie girl. "Dad", she said, "toddler boy is trying to...." as I turned my head I had this wondrous vision of my little guy reaching up to play with a marvellous red lever hanging above his head -- the fire alarm. I amazed myself with my graceful plunge over several rows of tiny chairs to reach his chubby fingers before they made all hell broke loose but, alas, I was a microsecond too late. As I ineffectually tried to put the red lever back in position (as if that would have made a difference at this point) the alarm pealed, the lights flashed, terrified grandparents began throwing themselves out the door and down the stairs to the parking lot. Parents milled about, wondering whether to leave, while we confessed our embarrassment. One mother, to her credit, told us "Oh, don't worry. Kids do these things. My daughter is the one who cut off your daughter's hair in the fall..." After ten or fifteen minutes of confusion and disarray, the teachers got the parents and tots back in their positions for take two of the second song. Just as the song began, a man in the back row shouted "Here they come! They're coming in!". Three firefighters in full gear, hats, oxygen tanks, burst into the room to reset the alarm. The kids squealed with delight. The women swooned. A dad beside me said "it's not a party until the cops arrive." My clever wife sat quietly in the corner, videotaping the entire fiasco. I watched my son, who seemed to realize only at around that moment that he had been the cause of this entire riotous affair. He looked down with some embarrassment and said "I couldn't help it, dad. I was just curious." Yes, he is.
Have a great holiday. I'm off to buy a turkey. Or perhaps a can of ham.
Not that I'm a very frequent blogger these days, nor do I have a huge audience (but a nice, dedicated, mostly anonymous one -- thanks for visiting. I don't know who you are (mostly) and I don't know why you come, but the fact that you show up so regularly and seem interested suggests that we'd probably like one another a lot if we met. I like the idea that the world is filled with potential friends), but I've decided to try to limit my screen time a bit over the holidays. Holidays for me will be fairly short, so I want to maximize the downtime, the intimacy with family, the quiet reflection (once I figure out how to make two toddlers reflect quietly).
I'll leave you for now with what will likely be one of our most cherished family stories of this season for many years to come.
Yesterday was our Asian wonderchild's preschool holiday concert. We showed up early, with toddler boy and blonde hippie girl in tow. We sat in the back row so that we'd be able to stand up to take pix without worrying about whose view was being blocked behind us. The teachers had set up a row of tiny chairs for us, and toddler boy and hippie girl climbed up on the chairs to see the show. As the first number drew to a close to wildly enthusiastic applause from the audience, the people in the row in front of me stood and leaned forward for a better view. I moved forward a bit, too, thus leaving toddler boy alone, standing on a chair, with nothing else to rein in his wild exuberance than a zoned out little hippie girl standing beside him, completely taken in by the sparkling decor.
As the second musical number revved up, I felt a little tug on my arm. It was hippie girl. "Dad", she said, "toddler boy is trying to...." as I turned my head I had this wondrous vision of my little guy reaching up to play with a marvellous red lever hanging above his head -- the fire alarm. I amazed myself with my graceful plunge over several rows of tiny chairs to reach his chubby fingers before they made all hell broke loose but, alas, I was a microsecond too late. As I ineffectually tried to put the red lever back in position (as if that would have made a difference at this point) the alarm pealed, the lights flashed, terrified grandparents began throwing themselves out the door and down the stairs to the parking lot. Parents milled about, wondering whether to leave, while we confessed our embarrassment. One mother, to her credit, told us "Oh, don't worry. Kids do these things. My daughter is the one who cut off your daughter's hair in the fall..." After ten or fifteen minutes of confusion and disarray, the teachers got the parents and tots back in their positions for take two of the second song. Just as the song began, a man in the back row shouted "Here they come! They're coming in!". Three firefighters in full gear, hats, oxygen tanks, burst into the room to reset the alarm. The kids squealed with delight. The women swooned. A dad beside me said "it's not a party until the cops arrive." My clever wife sat quietly in the corner, videotaping the entire fiasco. I watched my son, who seemed to realize only at around that moment that he had been the cause of this entire riotous affair. He looked down with some embarrassment and said "I couldn't help it, dad. I was just curious." Yes, he is.
Have a great holiday. I'm off to buy a turkey. Or perhaps a can of ham.
posted by Colin at 2:17 PM
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