My side of the family went home after our candlelight Christmas Eve service, and we attended our little street party until very late—waving at the Christmas Eve light lookers, eating hors’ d’oeuvres, and jiving with the neighbors about the neighborhood. One Mercedes cruising lady gushed her thanks to me for such a beautiful display. I accepted the thanks…then feeling guilty, pointed to the house across the way, explaining that I lived there not here. Of course, she thought that house was just beautiful too. Oh well.

My oldest got up at 5 a.m. Christmas morning to put together his Lego set. It only took him 6 hours total, if you don’t count the times he stopped to assemble a Dora scooter and pink little girl gadgets. It’s nice having another guy around who can operate a drill. I’m pretty much set with not ever having to take out the trash again for the rest of my life.

Seems my children are growing up a little. We poked a little fun with my eight-year-old son for playing with the toy girly kitchen, and so he insisted that he needed an apron now—in pink. Right back atcha.

So why do they have to tie down those itty bitty plastic toys with 41 heavy duty, indestructible plastic ties anyway? They’re not only kid-proof, they’re adult-with-a-hunting-knife-and-blow-torch proof. I’m just saying.

Congratulations to our internet blog reading friends, the Petersons, on the birth of their little girl yesterday, Christmas morning. As some of you know, my second-born also shares a birthday with the-Jesus-who-was-really-probably-born-in-April. Our blondie is seven now, and finally, I really do believe that time is moving on.