And so this is Christmas . . .

 Matthew is totally cool with Santa now.  So much so that when he returned from his turn on the big guy's lap and I said, "What did you tell Santa?" he replied, "I'm not telling YOU!"

I think Cameron is starting to question this whole Santa business, as he declined to write his letter to Santa this year.  "Uh, mom?  I'm kind of too old for that."  He wasn't quite confident enough, though, to completely skip giving Santa his wish list.  I mean, what if he refused to sit on Santa's lap and then on Christmas morning, Matthew was gleefully opening a vegetable peeler while Cameron was NOT opening his longed-for sushi set??? 

So Cameron decided to hedge his bets and figured that a chat with Santa was slightly less embarassing than having his picture in the local paper.  The local paper, however, is apparently unable to discern which child in the photo is the three-year-old and which is the seven-year-old as they published Matthew's letter and cropped him out of the photo, leaving a picture of Cameron next to "and please bring me Knuffle Bunny Free." Oh, the humiliation!

Impostor

Earlier this week, I unpacked our bin of local produce.  In it was a large, white, tuberous vegetable.  I vaguely remembered that this week's bin was supposed to contain something I'd never cooked with before but . . . what was it again?  "What is this?"  I said, holding the daikon radish (for that is what it was) up to Matthew.

He studied it for a moment and then said, "Ohhhh!  I know!  It's a vegetable that's pretending to be a carrot!"

That's how I roll . . .

Have you ever turned on the car, only to be shocked by the volume of the radio?  And you think, It didn't seem that loud before!  Did I really have it turned up that high last time I drove?

Yesterday, I studied with some of my classmates for an upcoming exam.  It's stressing me out, along with various other life challenges at the moment.  So as I drove home, I turned on the radio and found that Vanilla Ice's classic Ice, Ice, Baby was playing.  I turned up the volume, instantly transported back to a time where my biggest concern was the unfairness of my bangs' lack of gravity-defying height.  I mean, no matter how much AquaNet I sprayed on, my bangs were flat and droopy by the time I reached the bus stop.  How, HOW did Anna Michelle Nicole McKlemounginton* get her bangs to stand straight up like that?!?!  And ALL day long!  Life was SO unfair in seventh grade.

The car needed gas, so I reluctantly turned off the car and Vanilla Ice's inspired lyrics.  When the tank was full, I got back in the car, turned the key and Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer blasted from the speakers.  It is tough to look cool to Rudolph, even if you lean back in your seat and steer with one hand.  "They never let poor Rudolph," I sang, "play in any reindeer games!  Word to your mother!"

*  You may find this hard to believe, but I did not have a classmate who was actually named Anna Michelle Nicole McKlemounginton.  This is actually a clever pseudonym that I invented to represent multiple popular girls who were well-endowed in the bang department.

Santa's Stumble

My aunt sent me a link to have a personalized Santa message e-mailed to your children.  I did one for Matthew and it was super cute.  I called Cameron and Matthew into the room and they were delighted!  Until Santa said, "Matthew, I know you've been a good little boy this year."

Matthew was incensed.  "Santa called me a LITTLE boy!  I'm a BIG boy!"

Cameron hit replay and Matthew watched intently, apparently expecting that Santa would have heard his protest and appropriately modified his message.  But no.  Over and over and over again we watched and over and over and over again Matthew was outraged to hear Santa pair his name with the phrase "little boy."

Coordinated

Tonight, Matthew and I were on our own while Cameron and David were at a birthday party.  We had a great time together, the highlight of which was jumping on the bed.  When it was time to GO to bed, Matthew was still interested in playing.  We had been tossing a small basketball back and forth, so I said, "OK, we can keep playing catch until you drop the ball.  When you drop the ball, then we'll go get ready for bed."  Matthew enthusiastically agreed.

One hundred and four tosses later, he headed to bed.

One hundred and four.

It's complicated.

Today, I was driving with Cameron, Matthew and one of Cameron's friends in the car.  Matthew said what sounded like, "Frogs are made from gravity." 

"What?  Did you say FROGS are made from GRAVITY?" I said.

"Nooooo," replied Matthew.  "CLOUDS are made from GRAVITY."

This lead to an unexpected conversation about what frogs ARE made from, if not gravity.

"Frogs are made from wood," said Matthew authoritatively.

"No," countered the friend, "frogs are made from skin.  Or are they?  What ARE frogs made from?"
Cameron gave a heavy sigh.  "Oh, Mommy.  I think you'll have to explain it to them.  Because, guys, to explain what frogs are made of, I'd really have to start by explaining Phylum Chordata.  And that could take a while."

Rootsman Drag?

Matthew loves to listen to the same CD over and over and over.  For the past month, minimum, it has been Putamayo Kids Reggae Playground.  We've recently progressed to listening to the whole CD, but the first song is his favorite and for several weeks we listened to it exclusively.  It's called "Rootsman Dread" and starts out, "Daddy, Daddy!  It's Rootsman Dread!"  Rootsman Dread is described as "a colorful character beloved by children."  Matthew agrees with the both the "beloved" and the "colorful" part.  Each morning he pleads, "Mommy, I want to listen to 'My Dress.'"  Then he sings his little heart out.  "Daddy, Daddy!  It's just my dress!"