LMNOP

(This is in reference to a story about how, very early on in my first ever professional job, I ripped my cheap pants clear open when dropping to a squat in the file room to grab some binders and then had to spend the rest of the day holding said binders over my ass whenever I walked down the hall.)

In all honesty, this is probably the most complimentary outcome you can expect to a conversation that starts with someone saying they just finished systematically telling 70 people about the time you split your pants open.

Thanks, Mom.

This ended a somewhat drawn-out debate.

. . . That I have a new nephew! That makes two. Here's me with both of them:

Cove is on the left; Caedan's on the right. Caedan is a pirate.

Little dude is super excited for Christmas, and it's contagious. My sibs, the neph, and I all have dinner at my parents' house every Sunday night, and the past two visits have been full of decorating, reading Christmas books, talking about Santa, and even singing a few songs. (My rendition of "Jingle Bells" features rougher vocals than a pre-autotune Kim Zolciak, but nepherino doesn't seem to mind.)

Caedan's also going to be a sheep in his Christmas play, which is bad news for anyone who hates cuteness. Really, really, really bad news.

We had a fun suprise at our Thanksgiving table yesterday; my mom had reached into some magical vault and found placecards we'd all made for Thanksgiving many years ago. We estimated them to be from about 1991-1992.

Here's mine, featuring a turkey, a pilgrim, and what appears to be a flaming witch's cauldron. I apparently had some confusion going on about holiday imagery.

My older sister Kelly's was indeed very minimalist and Kelly-like. I am assuming there was a corresponding piece of green pasta glued to the bottom-left corner that has since fallen off.

Kate's features a turkey enjoying a lovely stroll under some clouds. We were arguing yesterday about whose turkey was better--mine or hers. Feel free to comment and confirm that mine is.

And then there's my brother's, which has no artistic value whatsoever. Just like my brother. (Zinggg.)

There were also placecards for my parents, although we couldn't remember which kid made which.

My forensic analysis upon closer examination is that the handrwriting on Mom's matches Kelly's and the legs on Dad's turkey very closely resemble those on Kate's, so those are the likely artistes.

I'm guessing Real Simple magazine will not be suggesting holiday placecards made by eight-year-olds in the '90s as a decorating idea anytime soon, but these really made our day. Good job, Mom!

Merry Christmas!  Here are some pictures of my family doing our annual gingerbread decorating festivities.  We do it every Thanksgiving, because 364 days is just long enough to forget how difficult it actually is to squeeze that godawful frosting.  This year's teams were:

Team Gingerbread House: Me, my brother, and his girlfriend Sasha.  The behavior you see in the picture is about as helpful as my brother got.  Sasha was the backbone of our frosting effort, while I mainly focused on detail work, drinking wine, and shit-talking with the other team, which was . . .

Team Gingerbread Tree, aka my older sister Kelly.  She was supposed to be joined by her husband Brian and my sister Kate, but Brian suddenly got very busy watching football, and Kate started dramatically coughing and claiming to be sick.  It was all very suspicious.

To see how the creations turned out, check the photo set.  Enjoy your Christmas--I know I will be having a great time ripping open every box in the hopes that it contains a Snuggie or a Whimsical Watch.

We had a lovely Thanksgiving at my parents' house on Thursday.  I put a couple pics up on Flickr.  Here is the Official Dorky Sibling Photo of 2009:

This would have made for an excellent Christmas card photo, save for two details:

1. It looks like my older sister is missing a leg; and
2. Oh yeah, my parents don't send out a picture of us anymore, because they send out a picture of my nephew, because they love him more.  (Not that I am really complaining.  We were getting a little old for it.)

Speaking of the nephew--he is in a phase right now where he has realized that EVERYTHING IS A DRUM, AS LONG AS YOU BANG ON IT WITH SOMETHING.  Which means we get treated to a lot of adorable impromptu concerts, such as this:

This would be circa 1989.  Michael in the shorts suit, Kate in the middle, me with the Popeye sash, Kelly in the back looking miserable. And then there's Mom, who at the moment this was snapped was probably realizing that my dad was the smart one to be behind the camera, because in exactly 20 years there might end up being a thing called the Internet, and this might end up on it.