That’s a slight exaggeration, but not much; we really are homebodies.

So the other night, it was stepping outside our comfort zone a little bit to take some things over to some neighbors. They have kids, too, and two of their kids are really close in age to two of our kids, so we kinda know each other. (not well enough that I could actually tell you the parents’ names; cuz I’m awful with names and because we usually just wave at them as we pass on the way places)

They were wonderful and gracious and invited us in, and we sat on the couch and chatted for the better part of an hour while all of the kids shrieked and hollered and had a great time in another room. We talked about where they used to live, and where all of us have worked, and what we will be doing over the summer.

It was so wonderful, we wondered why we don’t do these kinds of things more often.

Then a child melted, right there in the middle of the street, and we knew why. This shit’s hard, sometimes.

Get a dollar bill. The crisper the better.

Look at it face up, where you can see George.

Look at the upper left hand corner. Bend back a little triangle, just inside the green part, no more than a quarter of an inch.

Okay? What do you have. A dollar, right?

Go to the vending machine down the hall, insert it in the slot, and watch as it is rejected. Repeatedly.

Now, unfold the little triangle, and it’ll take it on the first try, and you can have your crackers.

Our family is flying to a wedding next week. We’ll get to see some relatives that we don’t get to see very often, due to eddys in the space time continuum.

The sun is shining, again, for a couple days. Next cold front just in time for the weekend (’natch).

Also, holy shit, our family is flying to a wedding next week!

I’m trying to keep things in perspective. If Ted Nugent can make it to sixty, maybe I can, too.

Usually, by now I have some kind of must see movie for the summer. But I cannot think of one. Sure, there’s “Race to Witch Mountain,” which I’ll probably watch with the kids (I was their age when the first one came out, probably why I like aliens and blondes still). May has Star Trek and Terminator Salvation. This summer has another Transformer movie and 2012 (and who doesn’t love a movie about the world ending?) We have to wait until practically Christmas for the new Chipmunks flick.

Anything you wanna see?

Guess what? Go ahead, guess.

I’ll give you a hint: I’m sick (again) of being a lard ass (still).

That’s right! It’s time for a new exercise / fitness plan. Probably the 42nd time I’ve started one. Or so.

(we pause while I do something useful for a bit)

Okay, am back.

Here’s the deal on my latest attempt to rid myself of a lard-ass. I need to start hitting the street again (running), and I bought a stability ball.

Yes, you read that right. When you’re done laughing, we’ll continue.

(still waiting)

Okay, had your fun? Now, I bought the ball (”Gold’s Gym” brand) because, I’m not making this up, it is an “anti-burst” ball, and well, I’m up to the challenge, I think. (and yeah, I’m 30 pounds over the maximum weight to use it, so what’s your point?)

It came with a giant poster showing exercises (which I’ve already misplaced) and a DVD featuring a young woman that could probably break me in half showing some stretches and a basic workout.

The other day I put in the DVD. The stretching portion damn near killed me, but we got through it. (I say “we” because I have kids, and it is endlessly amusing to them to watch their old man work out with The Ball. “Shamu, Shamu!” they will shout randomly, and clap politely when I get a trick right).

Next, there’s a 30 minute workout. Some exercises are easy. For instance, I did the squats with nary a problem (hold the ball, squat, stand up). On the other hand, the reverse lunges were almost the death of me, and about the only reason I made it through was my bad form combined with the fact that if I held the ball up in the air like they wanted me too I would have smashed it into the ceiling fan.

The young lady on the video is outside. On a golf course or something. No ceiling fan.

Somewhere in between is the crunches and something where I lay on my stomach (which isn’t really that easy to do) and put the ball behind my legs. And (my kids will vouch for this), you haven’t lived until you see me try and do the Cobra on a stability ball. Oh hells yes, I will learn some balance, or break something, one.

Ultimately, I survived my first brush with the stability ball. It stays in the living room, near the playstation, and the kids have fun rolling around on it while shooting aliens or whatever. But tonite - I’m going to try another workout. If you don’t hear from me, I’m probably in traction somewhere.

From today’s forecast for this weekend here:

Now, you might recall that just last week it was snowing here, and today is fog with about 1/2 mile visibility.

It’s nuts.

Anyway, the question is: When did your child question Santa?

I remember when we were kids and Christmas morning would come around… it was huge. Bigger than big. We would go to bed (eventually) on Christmas Eve, and whatya know, the next morning there were tons of new toys under the tree! My brother and I shared a bedroom, and we would wake up just before the ass-crack of dawn, and sit and whisper excitedly about what may be out under the tree. We might even sneak a peek or two. When my parents finally woke up, dad would take his time setting up the lights for the movie camera, mom would get in a safe spot to avoid getting trampled, and all of us kids would get at the end of the hallway and wait for the “1, 2, 3 - GO!” signal, at which point we would sprint to the living room and tear open anything that we found. So exciting.

Of course, later, when we learned all about Santa, this didn’t really change. We were just as excited, I think, maybe moreso, because by then we had moved onto bigger toys. Okay, eventually we didn’t sprint anymore, but we still had to wait on mom and dad to get ready.

So, back to the question at hand. My oldest turns eleven tomorrow (gack! TOMORROW?) and he has surely figured it out, but plays along. He even sat in Santa’s lap at our office party the other day for a picture (a bit reluctantly, but he did it). He keeps dropping sly comments like “I’ve seen this wrapping paper before,” or “that would never fit down a chimney” or “Hey, there’s a price tag on this, I didn’t know Santa shopped at Target!”

My eight year old has surely been TOLD by my eldest the truth about Santa (TTAS), but is so gung-ho about all things Christmas that he still holds to the old beliefs, I think. He wanted to put up Christmas decorations the day after Halloween, and is the driving force behind many things Christmas. He makes his lists, he wonders about what Santa might be able to do (”If I ask for a million dollars, Santa might give it to me.”)

Then there’s my little girl. She believes, she watches TV shows like Rudolph and Frosty with wide-eyed love of the big red guy, but there’s a problem. She is scared to death of Santa in person. Trauma. You’d think at her age (she turns six next summer) she’d at least tolerate the guy, but no, wants nothing to do with him. In pictures, on TV, in song - fine. But don’t let the bastard near me. It wouldn’t matter that we could say that’s just one of Santa’s helpers, someone in a red suit with a toy beard, she wants nothing to do with him.

So, I’m not sure if I answered the question, but I’m outta time for now…

It’s amazing I got a signal with Cingular AT&T, being in the middle of town and all.

And there’s no snow on the car because they already cleaned it off. Great kids I have.