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Ahh….the Christmas holidays, or Saturnalia, as it used to be called.  I’ll get to that in a minute.

The last few days have been pretty normal around here.  Our normalcy began on the morning of December 24th, Christmas Eve (or Noche Bueno, as they call it here).   Stacy was trying to multitask while making a chocolate pie.  With our very powerful beaters on high and beating the pudding silly, Stacy knocked over the aformentioned bowl of chocolate pudding. The velocity of that landing was outstanding.  Pudding on ceiling, Stacy’s clothes, white cabinets, white floor, on the fridge, in the fridge, on the bar.  Oh my.

Things were uneventful until that evening.  I was carrying Emily’s homemade stove/oven combo down the stairs from our roof-top work room.  The boys and I made it for Emily who, based on her wish list to Santa, wants an entire house in her room.  She’s asked for a small couch, small chair, small bed for her doll, small kitchen complete with cutting board.

At any rate, I was hauling the fruits of our loving labor down the stairs and stepped on a brand new quart canister of contact cement.  Yes, it was round, and yes, it behaved as a round flimsy metal canister would do when suddenly exposed to the 200+ pounds of my frame: flipped, rolled, and bent.  I behaved exactly as 200+ pound, 37-year old male would do when suddenly exposed to such an unsteady surface: flipped, rolled, and bent.

Contact cement does not, by the way, wipe very well.  Had to get a pound of sawdust from the roof to soak it up.  Stacy was doing Santa with a rag wrapped around her face while I frantically limped around closing the kids’ bedroom doors in hopes of avoiding aromatically-induced neurological damage.   Not exactly how we usually pass the time waiting for Santa to come.

Christmas morning was lovely.  That afternoon, my cleanliness-obsessed wife decided to wash clothes.  Christmas or not, it was a sunny day and we needed to get the clothes washed and on the line to dry.   Turned out, our washer broke, or to be more accurate, the transmission that operates the drum broke.  The washer filled with soap and water, made lots of noise without moving, drained, repeated process.  This left us with moderately clean but absolutely soaked clothes.  Each item weighed about 2 pounds.

The repairman estimated a $200 repair bill on the 26th.  I spent all afternoon on the 27th taking the blooming thing apart in a vain yet valiant attempt to save a little money.  After 6 hours, one bruised and cut knuckle, a cracked engagement ring diamond (sustained during Stacy’s attempts to “help”), and a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, I concluded that we were going to have to pay the $200.   And I wasn’t kidding about the poke in the eye.  We didn’t get the splinter out until Sunday morning at church.

On the upside, I know more about washing machine design than ever.

Yesterday the coffee pot died.  Not good news for the coffee fanatic; that would be me.  When the Diet Coke production factory dies, you’ll be hearing from Stacy.

Let’s have a rundown of what has happened in the last month: our Wii broke after having it for 2 weeks; our TV suddenly changed colors to dark orange;  our washer died; our coffeemaker died; Stacy spent 3 hours flooding the laundry room filling up a water bottle from the filter; and we still have chocolate pudding on the ceiling.

Oh yeah, and on top of all that, Stacy caught Emily chewing something this morning that didn’t look like gum.  Turns out it was Zach’s band-aid from his finger. Ugg.

And to top off our Christmas season, December 28th we celebrated our 17th anniversary by doing nothing.  I gave Stacy what she really wanted: a package of Orville Redenbocker’s Extra Movie Butter Microwave popcorn.  After supper, my mom called to wish us a happy anniversary by announcing that my 92 year-old  grandmother had died.

This is too long….I’ll get to Saturnalia later.

jeremy

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