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Well, our Christmas was... interesting this year. After our Christmas Eve festivities with my family (nothing says family holiday like caviar and vodka), and the Christmas morning extravaganza of Santa followed by more gifting and eating with family, we finally arrived back home in the late afternoon to celebrate our little family's Christmas. It started off normal enough, almost Rockwellian in fact, with matching pajamas for father and daughter:
Then, well, it went weird. Okay, to explain, my wife has always wanted a strawberry house for her dogs. It's a dog bed. Shaped like a giant strawberry. Obviously. They sell them in Japan. Anyway, I finally relented and bought her one, and Kiki quickly became stuck inside it:
Soon thereafter she decided that she was going to get the party started by taking her top off (yeah, I'm looking forward to her high school years too):
Then, well, things went downhill. After being rescued about 14 times from the jaws of the strawberry house, Kiki threw a shit-fit because we didn't want her getting stuck in it again. I know, worst parents ever:
Then, well, this happened:
But in the end, though it may not be everyone's idea of a perfect Christmas (or anyone's), we all enjoyed it (yeah, she's still totally naked):
Here's hoping your holidays were as joyous (and nudity filled) as ours.
Well, amidst the furor of the move and the extensive preparations for my post-Christmas birthday (I got a card!), we also had to make plans for Santa Claus. Last year Kiki was not visited by Santa, because, frankly, she has terrible parents. But this year, well, she still has terrible parents (okay, fine, just her father is terrible), but at least Santa did come.
Well, Santai, as she calls him. Though there is some debate, my wife thinks it's Santai, while I believe it's Santae. Maybe because she's half-Japanese while I took latin and think Kiki's just pluralized it, or maybe it's because my wife is smart and I, well, I think the blog speaks to my mental facilities (ooooh, poop cake!). Anyway, Santai/ae visited and brought Kiki a kitchen.
Which, should be noted, she was annoyed with because the sink doesn't work and the microwave also does not actually heat things up. Anyway, "Santai", after slaving away for 3 hours to build the kitchen (why send 13 pieces when you can send 3,744) just didn't have the energy to wrap it. Thus, Kiki's first experience of the magic of Santai was an old sheet covering her big gift. I think when she's older we'll explain that Santai does some more unusual things for her since she is an only child and he knows she's appreciate it, while most families have several kids to keep happy to Santai just sticks with the old reliable for them. I know, I'm trying to figure out other lies we can tell her to cover up our laziness.
But in the end, I think her first experience with Santai was a success. I mean, just look how excited she was to thank him:
Well you may have noticed a significant lull in the frequency of posts the past month. Oh, you didn't? You don't pay that much attention to this mindless diversion you say? Well, fair enough, but no matter, I do apologize. We were somewhat otherwise engaged in the process of moving. We built a new house this year and the time finally came for the big move.
Well, we didn't really build it, thankfully, if that were case it would still be a pile of ill cut lumber and mud (though Kiki does seem like she may have some useful carpentry skills). No, someone else built it and we would just show up periodically (and typically ask stupid questions like "Instead of carpet can we install velcro?" or "Oh, it's going to be built out of wood, huh?"). It worked out much better that way for all involved. But, being as we had to move, we went through the lengthy process of eliminating all unnecessary shit from our lives. Well, physical items, not needy friends or emotional baggage, sadly.
It seemed a simple process, but we found ourselves considering the utility and necessity of everything in our lives. Do we really need two corkscrews? How many shoes do you honestly need, we only wear one pair at a time (well, two if you wear hand shoes, and who doesn't)? Why even have underwear at all, I mean, really, it just seems like an extravagance.
So, basically, we moved a bowl and a robe each. Although I'm thinking about ditching my robe altogether, figuring I can just use the bowl to hide my shame. Hmm, dinner parties might be a little uncomfortable for our guests though. But then our friends do kind of know what to expect from us. Well, me. Okay, we don't actually have any friends, I made up that bit about dinner parties. But I can still make my wife and Kiki uncomfortable. And by god, I'm damn good at it.
Whenever our commitment wavered and we considered holding onto something unnecessary, like an extra toaster, or an old tennis racquet, or our wedding rings (mindless sentimentality!), we found a brief watching of one of the hoarding reality shows (Hoarders, Hoarders: Buried Alive,and Hoarders: Messy Crap House Stuff Show) quickly reinvigorated our zest for simplification. Something about seeing a man almost crushed to death by his collection of used bandages makes you much more open to parting with the clothes you haven't worn since college. I mean, I don't want my last breath to be smothered by a worn Spring Break '99 tee. I always envisioned my death as somewhat more dignified, maybe involving something classy, you know, like a Led Zeppelin reunion tour shirt.
