Christmas in the Fatherland: Day 3

Went to bed last night with the best of intentions.  I was going to run this morning!

Never happened.

Let’s just brush that one under the rug.

After coffee and an abundance of peppermint bark (thanks to my youngest sister who baked up a storm) I got myself and the kids dressed.  Then we packed up the rockin’ rental and headed to the rink.

Growing up in a cold-weather climate one might assume that I excelled at all manner of winter sport.  I’ll allow you to continue to think that.  But for those to whom truth is a prized gift I will say that I have, in my  lifetime, excelled at zero sports.  I played tennis when I was younger but that’s it.  In my mind I’ve stepped onto the rink hundreds of times, padded up, stick in hand.  I always thought it would be cool to play goalie for the New Jersey Devils.  But they already had Brodeur so I figured I’d let him to continue to do his job.

Laced up and ready to roll!

I have been on ice skates exactly three times in my life.  The most recent time was six years ago when we lived in Virginia.  To my surprise and delight I was able to skate pretty well.  With that memory in mind I stepped onto the ice with my two darlings and went around for a spin.  The kids held onto these metal walker-type things and tepidly proceeded to try their hand at skating.  Actually, after a few minutes my daughter ditched her walker.  She was quite impressive!  Son also got better.  He’s fearful (like his old man) but it didn’t take him long to catch his stride.  Along with several of their cousins we skated about an hour and then headed out again.

Move over, Elsa.

My daughter went to my sister’s house to play with her cousins while my wife, son, and I ran some errands.  One particular stop was to the bank where my nephew works in some kind of managerial position.  My wife has been making all manner of currency-themed gifts.  She figured it was a more colorful presentation than a gift card.  They say “time is money”…  Considering it took her weeks to make these money wreaths, money guitars, money trees, and money scarves I’m not so sure we actually broke even.  My  nephew obliged by changing hundreds into tens and twenties.

Ready for the best part?  You are, aren’t you…

Welcome to the S*it Show!

No holiday travel-logue would be complete without some kind of evil virus.  In the preparation for Christmas, I had forgotten to get my hair cut.  Actually what I needed was a beard trim.  Starting to look like Benjamin Harrison – which is actually pretty damn awesome – but somehow not what my wife imagined when she married a clean-shaven Harvey.  On the way home she texted to say that she was going out to finish some shopping.  The time was about 9PM.  I walked into the house to the usual pre-Christmas Eve buzz of people drinking in punch, eating cookies, finishing the pizzas we had ordered earlier.  It was a pretty scene.

And then I heard him.

From the other side of the bathroom door: “Daddy?”

I approached the door and asked if I could come in.

“Yeah, I need some help.”

I cautiously opened the door.  Not cautiously enough.  Son, years from now you’ll read this.  Please don’t be embarrassed.  It happens to all of us.  “What?” you ask.  Let’s just say that I have never seen so much vomit in my life.  It’s a small powder room.  You have amazing aim, assuming you were trying to repaint your aunt’s walls.

“I kind of got sick,” he said.  “And I had diarrhea.”

Honestly, I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.  Thank God your uncle is a nurse and your dad isn’t ashamed to ask for help.  Also thank God your mom, who doesn’t deal with such things, was out of the house.

My stylist (also my niece).

By the time she returned an hour later your uncle and I had scrubbed you and that bathroom clean.  Who knew kitty litter was so absorbent?  My sister walked up on the porch where my brother-in-law and I were sipping on guzzling scotch.

“On the up side,” I muttered to her, “Your baseboards are glistening.”

Sonny, you would throw up three more times this night.  Bleach is a good thing.  We surmised that it must be a 24 hour bug since your cousin (who was ice skating with you earlier) also got sick.

Merry Christmas to me!  Thank the Lord for the peace of the newborn Christ-child.  He will bring us joy and settle your stomach.


3 responses to “Christmas in the Fatherland: Day 3

  1. Ugh…we just call that “the sick” and issue stainless mixing bowls to all occupants 😷

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