simple pleasures

This is the kind of shit you get to do when everyone is bought for, everything is mailed, and you still have a week-and-a-half off at home. I'll try not to be too sentimental, but no promises.

Watching the thermometer drop in the car to 2 degrees, and not getting out until it stops dropping. Actually reading blogs, and actually posting. Sledding with your kids, even though the snow isn't that great. (Those of you without children, you need to understand that the endevour of just getting ready to go sledding with kids often takes longer than the actual sledding.)

Working out everyday with PHF, even though he's not a good influence because half-way through he always goes, "Shit, I'm tired. I'm done." Laying on my tummy on the hamstring machine and mentioning to PHF that I always think, "Ok, I'm laying here. Someone come and rub my back between sets now." And him actually doing it. That man is not of this world, I tell you. Sometimes he's annoying, but sometimes... hmmm.

Watching Seven Years in Tibet, even though we've seen it before, and PHF tolerating my saying (only twice an hour), "Holy shit that Brad Pitt was hot when he was younger." Leisurely sex. Playing video games with my six year old. Playing toys with my two year old. Not getting too annoyed when she argues/hits/ screams/doesn't nap/refuses to dress, because we don't have anywhere in particular to be anyway. Whiskey and hot tea for much of the day after three pm.

Going out to dinner at the Dark Horse, going through about ten bucks in quarters, taking serious advantage of happy hour, and getting to play air hockey (the best bar game EVER invented) with almost everyone in your party. Going swimming and giving the new remote control submarine a try in the pool. Learning to snowboard (ok, next week, then.) Planning on going to church, and then actually going. Driving around looking at Christmas lights. Watching Star Wars (and trying not to say the lines out loud, but not succeeding).

Letting the kids stay up late. Biscuits and sausage for breakfast. Shopping for that one extra present, but not finding it and not caring because there's enough crap under the tree already. Wearing sweats that make my ass look fat and baggy but not caring because I'm at home for the day. Sitting around by the fire and Christmas Tree looking at magazines and catalogs. Discussing my son's latest novel. Christmas music. Five minute long hug and giggle sessions with Punkinhead.

Laying our clean, unfolded clothes in a heap on the bed and instead of throwing them on the floor at bedtime, folding them and putting them away. (Editor's note: The author is encouraged to add that the author's family should not expect this to be a regular occurence.) Explaining Christmas, and why we don't celebrate Hannakah, and which friends are Muslim and what that means; and taking the time to make sure The Great gets it. Drinks with friends. Chick flicks. More slow sex. Donuts and beer for lunch. Christmas day in jammies.

You get the picture. Writing? Not much. Ideas? Plenty. But I'm on vacation, after all.

Happy Christmas, and if you don't partake, then happy Saturday. Sit around and relax. After all, the Broncs are playing and the stores are closed.

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