Sam has gotten some awesome presents, and Santa hasn't even been here! Dede got him some great costumes: Superman, Batman and Robin.
Last night, Sam said, "Pick one, Mommy!" I chose Batman, because he has the best song. : )
Sam was Superman.
Sam said, "Here, Daddy, you're Robin." Matt said, "I don't want to be Robin - being Robin blows!"
I begged Matt to allow me to photograph him in his Robin costume. He kindly said: No "Freaking" Way.
Santa comes tonight, a night early, and then we're off to the O.C. Rainy, high 60's, but it beats the snow.
Merry Christmas.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Living the dream
I'm about to wrap-up my final story for the sizable writing project I've been working on - and I'm over a month ahead of schedule!Poor Sam has spent some pretty boring days around the house, when he's not at preschool, with Mommy typing away on her computer. I'm about to make that all up to him as we're going to spend the entire week next week going to movies, Monkey Joe's, Chuck E. Cheese--whatever he wants!
Matt and I asked him what Daddy does for work. Sam shrugged and said, "He works in a tower." We asked him what Mommy does, and he said, "She's a writer." He's a good man, that Sam.
Even Matt tells Sam to play guitar!
We're heading to California next week for an entire week of sunshine. It's been 87 degrees there all week. I cannot wait. We're going to take a trip up the coast again, and take Sam with us this time. There's so much adventure waiting for us. Sam has definitely had more life experiences than most children his age, and he's absolutely wonderful to hang out with. Whenever I pictured the type of child I might have someday, Sam was definitely in the dream.
Sam slept between us the other night, and Matt said, "Can you imagine how comforting it is to be sandwiched between your parents like this? Sam will never feel as safe as he does right now."
This was also part of my dream. : )
Sunday, December 05, 2010
A Visit to Santa
After a day of sledding on the "Carmel Hill" yesterday, we took Sam to meet Santa at Clay Terrace. They had a pretty swanky set-up, as Santa rested inside a little gingerbread house that had a Tom Roush car give-away parked right in front, insuring that no one could take a decent photograph.
Sam had a runny nose all day, which should have been red flag enough to postpone this event. He fell asleep in the car on the way there (5 minutes), so we took him into the sporting goods store to liven him up a bit -- his sleep coma remained. We decided to forge out into the snow and wait our turn to see Santa, with the shiny new Chevy parked outside the gingerbread house. There really was no line, just us and the Chevy.
After a few moments, I rapped on the door (because, after all, this is a Christmas story), and Santa's grouchy, middle-aged elf, let's call her Sheila, came outside and snarled, "It'll be a few minutes!"
We hadn't planned to purchase photographs, given Sam's slight cold and physical torpor, but I knew that Sheila was really trying to say, "We have paying customers in here!" I told Matt to get his credit card ready.
We decided to walk across the street and grab two coffees and a hot chocolate while we waited. While in the store, Matt realized that Sam's gym shoes (I completely forgot to buy the child snow boots!) were caked in mud, which was now covering the floor of the Gelato boutique. I tipped the guy three dollars because I knew he'd be responsible for mopping after we left.
We could see the paying customers leaving Santa's house, dressed in red sweaters, smiling as snowflakes gently landed on their faces. We gave Sam's nose a good wiping and headed back to wonderland.
I'd dressed Sam like the little brother wearing all the winter gear in the movie A Christmas Story. Layers upon layers I'd layered, and it was beginning to hit me that this might be causing Sam's state-of-mind. "He's hot!" I said to my husband, and so right there in front of God and everyone (Santa, Sheila, two girls taking expensive photographs), I began stripping Sam down.
Sam had no interest in Santa after he'd told him about the big green gun and fishing pole that he wanted, but we tossed him on Santa's lap, anyway. Sheila tried using some kind of baby rattle to entice a smile from Sam, but he wasn't having it. "Snap, snap, snap!" Three horrible digital photographs. The girl turned her computer screen so that we could see how awful the photographs were, and she knocked my large coffee off the table, and onto Santa's floor.
Sheila seemed really pissed. We were down $11.00 at this point, and still had to buy a picture.
Sheila threw Matt and me into the frame along with Santa and Sam and yelled, "Smile!" We heard one more snap, and that was it. That was going to be our Christmas photograph, no matter what.
"It's terrible," Matt said, "We're not giving this to anyone!"
We shall not speak of this experience again.
Sam had a runny nose all day, which should have been red flag enough to postpone this event. He fell asleep in the car on the way there (5 minutes), so we took him into the sporting goods store to liven him up a bit -- his sleep coma remained. We decided to forge out into the snow and wait our turn to see Santa, with the shiny new Chevy parked outside the gingerbread house. There really was no line, just us and the Chevy.
After a few moments, I rapped on the door (because, after all, this is a Christmas story), and Santa's grouchy, middle-aged elf, let's call her Sheila, came outside and snarled, "It'll be a few minutes!"
We hadn't planned to purchase photographs, given Sam's slight cold and physical torpor, but I knew that Sheila was really trying to say, "We have paying customers in here!" I told Matt to get his credit card ready.
We decided to walk across the street and grab two coffees and a hot chocolate while we waited. While in the store, Matt realized that Sam's gym shoes (I completely forgot to buy the child snow boots!) were caked in mud, which was now covering the floor of the Gelato boutique. I tipped the guy three dollars because I knew he'd be responsible for mopping after we left.
We could see the paying customers leaving Santa's house, dressed in red sweaters, smiling as snowflakes gently landed on their faces. We gave Sam's nose a good wiping and headed back to wonderland.
I'd dressed Sam like the little brother wearing all the winter gear in the movie A Christmas Story. Layers upon layers I'd layered, and it was beginning to hit me that this might be causing Sam's state-of-mind. "He's hot!" I said to my husband, and so right there in front of God and everyone (Santa, Sheila, two girls taking expensive photographs), I began stripping Sam down.
Sam had no interest in Santa after he'd told him about the big green gun and fishing pole that he wanted, but we tossed him on Santa's lap, anyway. Sheila tried using some kind of baby rattle to entice a smile from Sam, but he wasn't having it. "Snap, snap, snap!" Three horrible digital photographs. The girl turned her computer screen so that we could see how awful the photographs were, and she knocked my large coffee off the table, and onto Santa's floor.
Sheila seemed really pissed. We were down $11.00 at this point, and still had to buy a picture.
Sheila threw Matt and me into the frame along with Santa and Sam and yelled, "Smile!" We heard one more snap, and that was it. That was going to be our Christmas photograph, no matter what.
"It's terrible," Matt said, "We're not giving this to anyone!"
We shall not speak of this experience again.
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