Skeptics

I’m a skeptic. I don’t know when I became a skeptic, but maybe I was born that way and had to grow into it. I’m thinking that skepticism may have a genetic link, like religious belief is, maybe. I do remember being a sucker for Santa Claus, though only dimly, and don’t recall when I stopped.H believed haphazardly until a friend of his told him the truth, and my belief is that he’s been on a secret, forbidden crusade to educate his little brother ever since. C started saying last year, speculatively, testing the waters, “I think you’re just putting presents under the tree. Not Santa.” Now, that’s true (sorry to break it to y’all), but I also label the presents clearly as being from me (or Brad), so it’s hardly a revelation. I remind C that Santa doesn’t leave presents under the tree at our house, but just in the stockings. Then he remembers that’s the case, says, “Ooooooooooooh,” and looks at my sideways for a while.

So my small skeptic is onto me, which is fine. I love a good skeptic. That being said, this is probably the only picture I’ll ever get of this nature:

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And he only did it to humor me. Look at the fakey fake smile and the leeeeaning away.
Now, while I love a skeptic, I love a skeptic who humors me even more.

At the moment we’re all about advent calendars in our house, both the purchased Angry Birds K’Nex kind and the homemade activity-based kind (which is actually a Solstice Advent calendar — hence, only 21 pockets):

ImageWe’re about through it — only four more to go. And I could really do with a little more sun. Or a lot more, if the solar system is so inclined this year.

We also do a tree. This one is the top of one of our very sick looking Colorado Blue Spruces, which need to go. At least one of them has served a noble purpose (other than getting burned in a firepit, I mean, which is also their fate).

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Decorating is serious. Morose, almost. At least that’s about where the tree-drama stopped this year. It’s always been sort of a volatile activity for my boys. I don’t know why. Much tantrum, in the past. This year, only a little resistance to using the damn ornament hangers.

Western Mass is in the grip of, um, lots of snow. Which I spent lots of time tonight blowing around with our very heavy, very old, very loud, and reasonably effective snowblower. Just trust me. You’ll have to, since I’ve not taken a picture of the lovely, white, cold blanket all around. It’s out there, being all bright and glistening.

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A cozier way to indicate winter’s arrival. Ye gods, how I love to put on warm boots.

 

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About sayingthings

K lives in the US with her man and kiddos, knits, cans, dehydrates, bakes bread, (but doesn't cook regular food, particularly), crochets, spins, gardens, studies for a degree that never seems to end, and um, works. Sometimes she wastes time online. Also -- and family, she's looking at you here -- sometimes she swears and says things you might not agree with. But she still loves you.

Posted on December 18, 2013, in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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