I know many of you hate receiving these yearly accolades neatly condensed into a single letter – complete with stationary bearing the appropriate winter motif.
(And we went with the fantasy of silvery snowflakes like a good California family.) Quite frankly, if you’re still reading by this paragraph, you’re probably at least a little curious. Or you’re going to forward to all your friends with an accompanying mocking cynicism.
Too bad. I wrote one anyway.
2012 passed us by in the blink of an eye. It was the end of an age and the beginning of a new era. As we welcomed this year into existence, our family said goodbye to Great Grandma Winnie. The story of our family turned a page as our newest generation continued to grow up.
It’s frighteningly easy to miss some of the simpler moments when you’re watching the discovery of life through the eyes of a child. And I couldn’t be happier to report we are approaching the conclusion of a simple year.
This season our toddling terrific twosome are starting to really get the concept of Christmas. Yet, despite the urgings of neighbors to partake in the time-honored suburban tradition of Griswold style house décor battle, I am pleased to report we refrained and nothing more than a giant inflatable penguin and Santa flying a helicopter adorn our lawn.
(At least as of this letter writing, the most recent Northern California winter storm hasn’t given flight to “that guy” in the copter. Although that would totally be hilarious to see reports of “Santa spotted in early flight” – as the very merry rotary sleigh shoots across the night sky via air spitting out its backside like a balloon.)
Jon and I have spent the year at our respective jobs. (A rarity, I know.) Our two senior labs continue to make their pitch for features on the Dog Shaming blog sites by eating and peeing on things they’re not supposed to.
Here’s the point in the holiday note where I’m supposed to let you know that our children are completely brilliant and likely to be granted an audience with the Pope as they are awarded an honorary doctorate by age 3. But it does occur to me that the boys are at the same developmental stage as their fraternal canine companions as noted in the prior paragraph. So I’ll rephrase with the sentiment that Search and Destroy are “right on track.” They remain my heroes.
Search is proving more and more to be his mother’s son, having mastered “the look” (an intense eyeroll) and lining up his beloved Big Trucks along the floor or cuddling up with a good book. Destroy, the physical carbon copy of his father, has found his voice and narrates life to us when not flipping himself across the living room floor. (We took the hint and signed him up for gymnastics.)
Thank you for spending part of your lives being a part of ours. May you and yours have a happy, healthy holiday! Here’s to all the new stories to be told in 2013.