Kjel.org is back from Christmas in Bellevue and Seattle with the families. I won’t give you a full play-by-play, but here are some of the things from the last few days.
1. The lads went to see Santa at Macy’s a few days back. Santa was great, but playing in SantaLand and in the train car was far and away the best part of Stinkboy’s week. A great tantrum came upon us when it was time to leave, but it was blunted slightly by an old chestnut, one also entirely apropos for the situation: “Remember, Santa only brings toys to good little boys.”
2. Sunday the 23rd, heading up I-5 (or The 5, as our California based readers might call it) the Jr. VP initiated a massive diaper filling event. ‘Twas ugly. The wind was howling and the rain was coming down in buckets. We couldn’t wait to get to a rest area to change it, but doing it in a parking lot was going to get everyone involved soaked. Then, salvation: a closed and deserted gas station was spotted from the freeway. We took the next exit and drove right to it. It looked like it’d been recently damaged in the floods from a few weeks back, and was not doing so well now. We pulled in next to the pumps and under the cover and then got out and proceeded to clean up the boy. It was at this point that things started getting weird. Both the CFO and I got what was, as Shaggy might say to Scoob, “a very bad feeling about this” almost from the moment we got out of the car; the CFO later described it as feeling like she was a character in a Steven King book. The CFO was working on the boy in the front passenger seat, and I found myself standing behind her, in a state of readiness, wishing I had packed a shotgun along with the gifts and the luggage. Very weird and very stupid, and we recognized both at the time, but still we were happy to get the boy buckled in and get the hell out of there. Maybe a rabid St. Bernard or an evil clown had been stalking us and we barely escaped, who knows?
3. The drive sucked, avoided-encounter-with-Evil-at-an-abandoned-gas-station notwithstanding. Windy and rainy the whole time, and with a ticked off baby in the back seat and a seeming 75% increase in the numbers of idiots and maniacs on the road. Plus the trucks. Don’t get me started on all the goddamn trucks. Below is an excerpt of a piece of legislation I’ve asked my parents’ Washington State Rep to sponsor:
“It shall be permissible for a motorist upon any interstate highway located within the state of Washington to use a firearm, missile launcher, or other explosive device for the purpose of persuading the drivers of Class A and Class C recreational vehicles and of semi tractor/trailers that they should under no circumstances whatsoever travel in the left lane. It shall be permissible to brandish said devices in a threatening manner should one of the aforementioned vehicles be present the center lane of a three lane roadway.”
I’ll let you know how that one goes.
Upon arrival in Bellevue I was worn out from the drive. CEO’s mom upon arrival: “Hi guys! Hi [CEO]! How are you?” CEO’s reply: Whiskey, stat!!
4. Christmas Eve morning the whole crew is milling around the parent’s pad, watching TV and playing and drinking coffee and such. The CEO’s mom asks me to go out to the second fridge in the garage and bring in a jar of jam. Sure thing, mom!. I go out there and open the fridge. A small bottle of Wilcox Farms (one of my favorite chocolate milk producers) was in the door. Chocolate milk. Awesome. I cracked it open and took four big gulps. Something wasn’t right. Wait a second. . . This is the 2006 vintage!. The May 10th 2006 vintage was excellent when it was released, but didn’t cellar well. Lucky for me there was a garbage can next to the fridge for me to hurl into. I’ve learned my lesson: check the chocolate milk vintage before tasting, not after. My family was amused, but I was not. Who the hell keeps a 20-month-old bottle of chocolate milk in their fridge? I think it was a trap set specifically for me. Touché.
5. The CEO got a Santa suit for Christmas. Years of hilarity are going to come from that gift, I can feel it. Think of all the children I can scar. . . Won’t somebody please think of the children?
6. Many of the crew at my parent’s house took a walk around the neighborhood Christmas Eve Day. Crazy cousin Chuckles came with, and brought along a football. He and I played a running game of catch as we were taking our walk. I nearly killed him on one play: I sent Chuckles deep and then I let it fly. The ball sailed on me a little bit (CEO is not a QB. More of a DT, really) and was headed toward a low fence in front of someone’s house. The fence was perfectly sized and perfectly placed to impale a boy of Chuckle’s size should that boy lay out in a dive for something like, say, an errantly thrown football. I saw the whole thing unfold in my mind as Chuck raced for the ball, tracking it the whole time and not watching where he was going. Oh great, I’ve killed Chuckles. My sister is going to be royally pissed, and now I bet Christmas in Bellevue will be awkward for years. Well done, CEO. Bravo. I shouldn’t have been worried: of course Chuckles was able to both get to the ball and avoid impaling himself. Let’s hope that that’s the last time the CEO’s ineptitude almost kills a young man, but I wouldn’t bet on it.
7. We spent the majority of Christmas Day with the CFO’s family in Seattle, watching the snow come down. In the evening some family friends came over and we had a feast of prime rib: it was “yummy delicious” as the Jr. VP might say. The true dining highlight of the evening though was the hors d’ oeuvres. One of the friends in attendance was an older Filipina woman who likes to cook. Everyone should be so lucky as to know a traditional Filipina chef. Before coming over she’d whipped up a large platter of home-made lumpia rolls. OMG! (as the kids say) were they good. It is her usual Christmas day appetizer; there was a near mutiny one year when she forgot to bring them. I think she now realizes that the lumpia is a requirement if she is to attend the CFO’s parents’ Christmas dinner.
8. Yesterday I drove home by myself, since I had to work today and and the CFO doesn’t. She’s getting a ride down here tomorrow. I hope her drive is better than mine was: stop and go traffic for 50 miles on I-5 when you are out in the middle of nowhere is not fun. At least this time I had blasting rock music to keep me company instead of a crying baby, and a bag of provisions thoughtfully put together for me by the CFO’s dad: the remains of a deli tray from the night before. The pound of deli meat and cheese I ate in the car helped my mood considerably. That doesn’t mean though that I didn’t have any whiskey at the end of this drive too.
