What more can you say about Christmas in the heartland? Everything is covered in a blanket of snow. Neighbors drop in for coffee and one of the 200,000 cookies my mother-in-law has made. And thanks to the subzero temperatures, my balls have retracted up into my body for a long winter’s nap. It’s just as well, really. When your wife sleeps on the other side of the baby and your in-laws are in the next room, the boys know they won’t be called up into active duty any time soon.
Sadly, there is a darker subtext to all this effervescent holiday cheer. We’ll be here for about a week, and part of my plan is to exploit all this live-in babysitting and make substantial inroads on my book, which is due to my editor at the end of January. Naturally, when I woke up this morning I sprang into action—and racked my brain for any excuse not to head off to the library.
How desperate was I to stave off the writing process? I offered to shovel the driveway. It could have been about an hourlong job, but thanks to Robert’s help it took about 90 minutes. He couldn’t wait to strap on his heaviest outerwear and launch himself into another “worker guy” project, during which he magnificently strewed snow on areas I had just cleared. At one point, he told me he was digging a hole for the Second Avenue subway, and I wasn’t prepared to debate him. Maybe he knows something I don’t.
Now, hours later, my hands have just remembered that they haven’t shoveled snow in a dog’s age—one of the perks of my swingin’ city lifestyle—and begun to ache like a mofo. For the next few days, it appears I’ll be typing extra gingerly and delegating all shoe-tying and jar-opening to the missus.
I really have to work on this book thing, plus I have to write our Christmas letter and address all those friggin’ envelopes with these throbbing, semi-useless hands. So this could very well be my last entry of the year, which blessed me with a new son, a Parents mention, some walking-around money, and a fun new place to play around. Things were won and lost. And I turned 40 (as did my proclivities).
Aught-five was also especially good to this blog, thanks mostly to readers like you. So thank you for reading, and many happy returns for an especially Super Farty '06.