Santa: just one more guy who likes to sneak around my house. * * * * * Ah, Christmas. It was wet and it was green. I wore my t-shirt inside-out (which C said was very 80's), went for a run, nearly died (see: run), got called a grinch because I wanted Oona to actually *look* at each toy she was given, yet the mad wrapping-paper-ripping continued, watched Oona's eyes quickly empty of all meaning and comprehension, presided over her (completely expected) consecutive meltdowns, ignored C's attempts to make me look at the IKEA catalogue, planned supper, made supper, we had stuffed turkey breast and baked butternut squash and peas (for C, these must be from Quebec) and extra stuffing and cranberry sauce and gravy, and it all came out fine and lovely and we sat down to eat, and Oona melted down again, and refused to eat any supper, and C and I tried to ignore her, and we talked about how awful Christmas music is, and I said I didn't understand why most of it is made, becau
Draw things, paint things, write things, make things.