Messing with my mind here...

Early in the morning, shortly after 9, the doorbell rang. The dogs barked, of course, in case the noise of the bell wasn't enough to tell me that someone was at the door. I went to answer it and a mail carrier stood there with two packages. I stared, slack jawed, for a good 10 seconds. "I've got a couple of packages," she shrugged apologetically. "I wouldn't have rung the doorbell but I need your signature." She held the machine forward so I could sign. I didn't touch it for a moment. I looked behind me and saw my son. Nope. He wasn't at school. My husband called from the kitchen. He wasn't at work. I shook my head, wondering whether I was stuck in a time warp. The mail carrier laughed. "You're right," she said even though I hadn't said a word. "It IS Sunday. But we're overwhelmed with packages so until Christmas, we're also delivering on Sundays."

En attendant de voir le Père Noël

"Tu veux prendre une photo avec le Père Noël?" Mais B ne m'écoute pas du tout. Il essaie de voir, de l'endroit où nous attendons notre tour avec Papa Noël, un livre dans la vitrine du libraire. Je hausse les épaules et je me retourne pour admirer la scène: le Père Noël tient deux bébés souriants sur ses genoux quand un énorme bruit retentit derrière moi. B a fait tomber la barrière qui délimite la ligne d'attente - et pourtant elle était lourde, cette barrière. Trois poteaux viennent de tomber. Le Père Noël en a perdu ses lunettes et les bébés souriants se sont mis à hurler...

Repeat; Yawn; Repeat

First thing in the morning, as B slept in my bed following another midnight sleepwalk into my room, my 16 year old comes in. "And then he said we should get off the desks!" She laughed. B stops mid-snore and says, "Del, you already told us that story." "That's true," I tell her. "You told it to us last night before going to bed. But don't worry. I only listen to half of what you say." "Really?" She cries. "Did you hear that?" She asks B. But B, it turns out, was just poop disturbing - in his sleep. He's gone back to snoring.

Le père Noël

"Sais-tu ce que fait le Père Noël lorsqu'un enfant lui demande un cadeau?" Me demande B. Je hausse les épaules. "Il envoie quelqu'un pour acheter ce qu'on lui a demandé." M"assure-t-il. "Ah oui? Comment le sais-tu?" C'est à son tour de hausser les épaules. "Ça se voit. Il utilise les mêmes emballages que dans les magasins et, des fois, il oublie d'enlever les étiquettes."

Getting ready for a trip...

This is a big one: a trip all the way from Canada to New Zealand. And there's one month left before Christmas. And I intensely dislike crowds. And shopping. I dislike shopping. So here I am, a month before the dreaded day, getting all my presents wrapped and organized and I've realized something: I still need to decorate the house and I have exactly one weekend between now and Christmas to do it in. No joke. I think I need to clone myself. Now.

Est-ce qu'on peut jouer à Battleship?

Ce matin, B est dans mon bureau et il examine les lieux. "Eh! Maman! Est-ce qu'on peut jouer à Battleship?" Exaspérée, je lui réponds que non. Ça fait déjà une heure qu'il est réveillé; il n'a pas encore déjeuné et l'autobus scolaire passe dans moins d'une heure. "As-tu ouvert tes rideaux? As-tu fait ton lit? Es-tu habillé?" Il rigole! "Bien sur que non! C'est trop d'ouvrage tout ça!"

Hey... what's this?

After a birthday party, B was handed a chocolate bar as he left. "What's this?" He asked. "Where's my loot bag?" "That IS your loot," said the birthday child's mom. I have NEVER been happier when leaving a birthday party: just one piece of junk to monitor! Yay!!! And B didn't even seem to mind!