It was nice while it lasted

Solanne's adventures in potty-land were short-lived but welcome nevertheless. For one whole week, she would ask or happily agree to go to the bathroom at least twice a day (which not only means two fewer diapers but also no poopy diapers at all!).

In wonderful Solanne fashion, she just decided one day that she was done with that. "Non!!" is her reply when asked if she wants to go to the potty. Ah well, I expected it. So I've posted a visual to remember the happier potty-days.

Is "knat" the past of "to knit"?

I love to knit. It's a great pass time, and in the end, I have something to show for it. According to some sources, knitting is the new "urban" or anarchic thing to do. It's also the old-fashioned-mommy thing to do. So I have decided to identify as the "urban mommy."

I learned to knit when I was four years old. My mom had just had surgery and there wasn't much she could do but knit. So I sat next to her and learned. I don't recall spending much time doing it, however. Later, when I was about nine years old, I started knitting little clothes for my dolls. They were so popular, my friends asked me to make some for their dolls, too! The novelty wore off after a while, and I gave up the whole thing until I was pregnant.

I made a little outfit for my baby (whose sexe I did not know). It was a long and painful process, mostly because my technique was completely wrong, but I was unwilling to learn the "right" way. I finished it and it was nice, but Maïa outgrew it in a matter of weeks... After that I began various little projects in fits and starts, but always lost the motivation.

Last summer, I sat down with my mom and asked her to teach me to knit properly. "It's about time!" she said. I learned, and I started and finished up a sweater and hat ensemble for Solanne in a matter of weeks.




Inspired, I knit a toque for Maïa for her birthday. I actually finished it withing 24 hours. I was hooked.


Next, I decided to finish up a dress I had started for Maïa about 18 months ago. Of course, now it would be for Solanne. It was about half done. And I finished it within a week of taking it up again.




I have also started and finished a little outfit, which I cannot describe or show just yet... but it will be posted soon. Currently, I am finishing up a hat and sweater outfit for Maïa. I had finished the hat up before Solanne was born, but I never got around to the sweater. I have only to sew the bits together, and it will be done. Look for the "dog sweater" in a future post.

There it is: urban mommy busy whiling away her daughter's afternoon naps, knitting (when she's not working). I have a few more projects in the wings. And after that, I think I'll just have to bug all my friends to have more babies so I can knit up some newborn outfits. So get on it, y'all!

Grey hair

Parents often joke that the grey hairs on their heads were caused by the things their children did. I used to think they were kidding, but since Maïa was born, I have learned that there is an unmistakeably direct correlation.

Derek and I were very youthful looking (and youthful) when Maïa came into our lives. When Maïa was just a few weeks old, we were sleep deprived, shell-chocked, and generally overwhelmed. And somehow, through the fog of fatigue, I saw it: the white hair on Derek's head. It was coarse and unruly and unabashedly white. And I pulled it out. And I haven't seen it since.

Fast-forward about two years. When Solanne was just a few weeks old, we were sleep deprived, a little less shell-shocked, but still generally overwhelmed. And again, through the fog of fatigue, I saw it: the white hair in Derek's beard. And I pulled it out. It has since grown back and brought with it three more friends.

It would seem that we can now track how much stress the children have each caused Derek: if there are many white hairs on his head, Maïa has been the culprit; if there are many in his beard, Solanne is to blame. So far, it would seem that Solanne is "winning."

The question remains, however, who is causing the hair loss?

Maïa's lexicon

I would venture a guess that every family has secret "family" words. Of course, it's impossible to verify my hunch, given the secret nature of these words. But I have had a glimpse into a few people's familial lexicons, sometimes by invitation, sometimes by accident (like the time I overheard my supervisor ask his wife for the Skizors - their pronunciation of scissors!). Derek's family has a few of their own: bisabeen (limosine), pillodlee (pillow)... you get the idea.

Often, these words are created by the littlest people in the family. They mess up a word, ever so charmingly, and long after they get it right, the rest of the family still uses the mispronounced version. It's sweet, it's intimate, it binds us together.

Right now, we have three such words (apart from the occasional ones we remember from when Maïa was much younger). They are still in current use by the creator herself, and Derek and I have taken to using them, too.

ness-lick


re-sliking


spider-roll

Reasons to smile: number 127

Because this is my boot matt:

Solanne's trick of the week

Bathroom affairs are semi-public around our house (as witnessed in the Friends entry), which is almost a necessity with small children around. Solanne has developed her own baby sign for potty: it consists of her screwing up her little face and making a "poo" grimace.

Last Friday when she made her potty sign, I asked her if she wanted to try going on the toilet. She nodded, so off came the pants and the diaper, and on went Solanne to the toilet. And lo! and behold! out came a poo. This trick has been repeated at least once a day since last Friday. It's a great trick, and I'm not sure who's more proud: Sol or me!

Maïa's quote of the week

Maïa: I don't want that!

Daddy: Maïa, you're so picky.

Maïa: No I'm not! I'm soft.

Random photos from January

Just because we have a digital camera now, it doesn't mean that the pics get online any faster... not these days, anyhow...

Daddy's birthday cake at Grandma's


I bet you can't get cake in your eyebrows!


Some of the beautiful people in our family:

Nick


(Grampa) Ken


Naomi


Pat


Maïa was very interested in the glasses on Nick and Naomi's wall:

Hair

Look Ma! I have pig tails!!

Maïa's name: addendum

I nearly forgot: Maïa has another, honorary name.

Ookpik is an Inuit name given to her when she was about 5 or 6 months old by an Inuit friend of Derek's. It means "snowy owl." I find it very fitting, given her seeming wisdom and her alabaster skin. Interestingly, it is the official bird of Québec.

What's in her name: Maïa Blake

Choosing a name for a child you haven't even met or seen can be a challenge. Derek and I went back and forth on girls' names before Maïa was born. In fact, we only settled on the name Maia in the delivery room (the umlaut was still up for grabs at that point, however). So how did we pick her names? Here's a little history and fun facts about Maïa Blake and her name.

Derek and I visited Chapters quite a bit in the months leading up to Maïa's birth, reading and re-reading name books. Derek would suggest a name, I would say something like, "naw, I knew a girl in gradeschool with that name and she had a crooked tooth" (or something equally preposterous). Derek would veto the names I presented, too: "I like that name in French, but it really doesn't work in English." Yeah, months of this, I swear! We didn't know our first baby was going to be a girl, but luckily we had already decided on a boy's name, so we were only fighting a battle on one front.

In the last month or so before Maïa was born, I had grown partial to Maya, but I liked the spelling with an "i" - like the ancient Greek earth goddess. So I mentioned it to Derek. "But I suggested that name months ago and you rejected it: something about a girl in your highschool with a large head..." I said that I had gotten over it and that I liked the name now. Well, he had since changed his mind. In any case, every day, I would look at him over dinner or while we were out for a walk, or on any occasion, really, and say, "Maia is such a great name!" And he would smile. And he would find a new way, every time, to change the subject.

So how did I get my way? I think it had something to do with the fact that birthing a child is a long and arduous task, and perhaps he felt sorry for me. Or he felt that I had earned the right to name her. Or, maybe, just maybe, I had finally worn him down! In any case, he looked at me as I lay on the OR table, waiting for the emergency C-section to begin, and said something to the effect of: "I think Maia is a good name." (I don't remember the exact words as I was blissfully drugged up at that precise moment.)

We have since learned that besides being the ancient earth goddess to the Greeks (older even than Zeus!), Maia/Maya is also a south pacific sea goddess; she is also a Roman goddess, wife to Vulcan, and the month of May is named for her (so possibly a fertility goddess); it means "love" in an Eastern European language; it means "water" in Egyptian Arabic ("mayim" is Hebrew for water); and in Hinduism it means "illusion" (like the illusions through which we perceive the world). And let us not forget the Maya people in Mexico and Latin America.

A funny little aside: in our prenatal class, there were seven couples. To these seven couples, seven babies were born: two were boys, five were girls. Of the five girls, three were named Maya/Maia/Maïa. Not kidding. Ours was the first. When we sent out the birth announcement via email to our fellow classmates, we got one back from our friends (who thought they were having a boy) and they said that Maya had been on their list, too. Well, they had a girl. Also, one of the moms of the boys had Mya (same pronunciation) as the first girl's name on her list. I honestly don't know what it was about that name that year... That was back in Ottawa. I have yet to meet another little Maya/Maia here, so perhaps we've escaped it...

As for Maïa's middle name, some people have been known to jump to the wrong conclusions about it. Blake happens to be the name of Derek's favourite poet, William Blake. But that's not why we gave Maïa that name. She is my brother's namesake.

My brother, Jeffrey Blake Robillard, died on November 1, 1996. He was 35. He left behind four beautiful young children, who barely remember him now, I'm sure. They have since been adopted by their step-father and they carry his name. Until November 1, 2002, my brother had no namesakes, no one to carry on his name and his memory. So it was fitting, as Maïa burst into this world three weeks early and on the anniversary of Jeff's death, that we give our daughter Jeff's middle name.

And what's up with the umlaut? It's a French spelling. And I like it. And so does Maïa, for now. Her "i" is special because it has two dots. You'd think that someone with the odd spelling of Cristina would learn to give her kids normal names that everyone can spell. But in the end, I like my name without an H. There's a story there, in the absence of a letter, and what's a life without a story?

The third wheel

When you were little, did you ever lose your best friend to another kid? When I was about seven years old, I did, almost: my best friend, Nat, befriended another little girl, and I felt betrayed. There were some recesses when the two of them would take off without me, or they would have sleepovers that I wasn't invited to. It was heartbreaking.

Maïa has got herself into one of those situations, only she's the other little kid. At her daycare, there are two little girls who are inseperable: C and M. They do everything together at daycare, and they even like each other enough to want to see each other on the weekends, too! So you can imagine the difficulty that M has been having since C has taken Maïa as a friend. Now, it's not that the two are best friends. In fact, Maïa hardly ever talks about C. But the two get along quite well. M is not happy. When I went to pick Maïa up early one day, the kids were running around in the gym, only as three-year-olds can: loudly, chaotically, and while holding at least one other child's hand. So M and C were running about wildly when C spotted Maïa and ran over to her to grab her hand. M shouted loudly, "Not Maïa!" C insisted and the three ran together, though M did so quite reluctantly.

Now today, when Derek went to pick Maïa up, M was saying some nasty things about Maïa (which, in three-year-old world goes something like: "I don't like her!"). C was nowhere in sight, but Maïa has become such a threat to M that M just can't bring herself to endure being around Maïa. I really feel for little M, but I'm starting to understand the complexity of childhood relationships.

Maïa seems oblivious to the world around her because she generally plays on her own and seems to tune others out. But she actually picks up on everything. When Derek and I have a conversation at dinner or in the car and we think that the kids don't understand, Maïa will pick up the thread and ask us very pertinent questions about the topic we're discussing. I've taken to keeping important conversations for the evenings once she's in bed. So when Maïa seems oblivious to M's feelings towards her, I'm guessing that there's more going on. And I understand, suddenly, that the so-called "third wheel" is also heartbroken. It's not as though she is rejoicing in the attention C gives her. But she is most certainly suffering, to one degree or another, in the negativity that is coming off this other child.

So I've decided to talk to the daycare teachers to see if they've talked with M about her feelings. Certainly, they've picked up on the dynamics of the trio. But I want them to reassure M that C is still her best friend and that Maïa is just a regular friend and that Maïa could never replace her.

But, I'm realising as I write this, even if that conversation takes place, there is no guarantee that M will suddenly like Maïa, or even quitely tolerate her presence. And there is nothing I can do about it. It is completely out of my hands. Perhaps I am the one who is heartbroken...

Neat Freaks

Children naturally crave order. I'm not sure if this says anything about the human condition, and I'm not willing to speculate. But I do know for certain that small children (and some more than others) thrive on order: routines, traditions, habits, or any other kind of order you can imagine. It seems that three-year-olds are particularly affected by this "disorder", if you would allow me to call it that, for in our family, the need for order sometimes turns our lives topsy-turvy. Now when I say "our" I mean Derek's and mine.

Example One: Everything has its place
Maïa is very particular about what goes where. We have a number of baskets in which reside the children's toys. There are smaller ones there are larger ones; each contain a particular set of toys. When we first placed the baskets back in July when we moved to our new home, none of them had a their own space. But once we had put the dishes basket on the right on more than one occasion, that became its home. Now, it would be unthinkable to place that basket between the other two or to the left.

Example Two: Things must be straight and square
Again, the toy baskets. They must be placed on their respective shelves, but not in any-which-way. Oh, no. They must be pushed (but not too far in) and be perfectly aligned. Closet doors, doors to rooms, cupboard doors, drawers: all must be closed. If anything is left ajar, it gets pushed in.

Example Three: Routines are key
This one is a maxim that most parents of small children know well. In the baby books, generally the routine spiel is usually broached in the context of bedtime. Oddly, Maïa is very flexible with her bedtime routine. The mother of all routines in her world is the one surrounding the bathroom. There are at least 15 steps (we've counted), and they must each be done in the exact order or else all bets are off, and she's down on the floor, screaming. So we've just let it go. We coach her through each step to get her moving along (if left unchecked, she will take up to 30 minutes, and I'm not exaggerating: I tried it one day when we weren't in a rush to do anything).

There is no question that Maïa is a neat freak, for now, anyway. And it looks like Solanne is well on her way, too. Yesterday, as she was sitting in her highchair, having a snack, she yelled out, "Uh-Oh!! Uh-Oh!!!" I looked up to see her pointing at the utensil drawer I had left ajar (by about 1 cm). "Uh-oh!" She looked at me in earnest, so I closed the drawer. Then she clapped.

Sigh. I wonder what her mother-of-all-routines will be... I'll keep you posted.

Solanne's word of the week: go-go

The wonderful world of signs continues to be alive and well in our family, but verbal language acquisition is Number One on Solanne's To Do list. She says mama, dada, nana, suce, and non! (somehow in all this, she's forgotten how to say " chat," which was her first word).

Her latest word is yogurt (pronounced "go-go"). A few days ago we were thoroughly surprised when Derek opened the fridge to pull something out and Solanne ran over, shouting. She was pointing frantically at what seemed to be her drink of milk, so we took it out for her. She started to cry and screamed even more, and this time we made out the sounds she was making: "go-go! go-go!"

I took out the yogurt and asked her, "is this what you want?" She smiled, nodded and said, "go-go!" Of course! Yogurt is her favourite food, so shouldn't have come as a big surprise. She looked up at me with her big eyes and said "go-go" again, so I happily complied.

Now, when the fridge is open, when she walks by the fridge, or whenever the thought even crosses her mind, Solanne enthusiastically asked for her go-go. The first day, she ate four small containers of it. I've slowed down her consumption, but it's hard to resist the sound of those baby words.

On holiday

From December 22 to January 3, our whole little family was on holiday: I took a hiatus from my contracts, Derek put down the books, and Maïa stayed home from daycare.

Here are some of the fun things we did during that time:

While Daddy gave up reading, Solanne read anything she could get her hands on and wouldn't put down her books for anything...


Meanwhile, Daddy and Maïa played outside a lot...
Maïa and her snowman, Ned.


Eating snow.


Posing.


Being a crafty family, we also did some art over the holidays...
Nick and I painted the frame for this picture we gave to Gramma.


Derek and Naomi painted this one.


We got Maïa to work on Christmas cards.


Even Solanne wanted to be included, so she drew (on) herself.

The Christmas Quiche

When Derek and I became vegetarians a number of years ago, our families did their best to cope with it, with very little grumbling (and only at first). They found ways of making dishes veggie-friendly, or of adding a protein side dish that would replace the meat.

But "dealing with us" on holidays was a whole other issue. What in the world do vegetarians eat at Christmas or Easter? Those holiday meals all revolve around the all-important turkey: there's the bird itself; the stuffing, which goes into the bird; the gravy, which is made for the bird's drippings; the vegetables, which are roasted in the pan with the bird (at least in my family)... What is a meat-eating family to do with a couple of (and now 4!!) vegetarians?

So the first Christmas, Derek's gramma pulled a quiche from the freezer and baked it up for us. And we ate the vegetables and trimmings, just like regular people. It worked out fine, so every year after that, we got the quiche. Not as exciting as a turkey (which I must admit I never really liked anyway!), but it did the job.

This year, Derek and I and the girls hosted Christmas, first for my mom, then for Derek's parents and brothers and their partners. In the spirit of Gramma's idea, we decided to bake up a quiche, from scratch. And you know what? It was delicious... hardly a grumble from anyone concerning the conspicuous absence of the bird (mind you, they were all getting turkey at Gramma's the next day anyway).




And that's how our little family partakes of the Christmas meal: a very tasty quiche complete with mashed potatoes, stuffing, steamed veggies, and gravy.

Happy New Year!

Peace and prosperity in 2006 for all our avid readers. We'll be back in the blogging business early next week, once I get one of my contracts finished up...

Love to all,
Cristina

Christmas shopping

Today was our big day to get out there and shop for Christmas presents... if this seems last minute to you, let it be known that for our family, it's actually quite a bit ahead of time (last year we finished shopping on the 23rd).

Normally, we would put the girls into umbrella strollers and set off. They're surprisingly hardy on snowy and icy sidewalks. But it was unthinkable to take any kind of stroller out today on our sidewalks.



Luckily, we have two child carriers (read: backpacks). One heavy-duty one from MEC and another that Derek actually used to ride around in! So Maïa climbed into the big one (much to her delight - you have no idea how many times she has asked to ride in it!), and Solanne got strapped into the vintage model... and off we went.



And what shopping trip would be complete without a break for lunch at the restaurant? Maïa loves going to the restaurant; in fact, she plays "restaurant" in our bedroom. She brings all her food toys and dishes in there and has a little party. Sometimes she even invites her sister. So today it was a special treat for the kids not only to visit a culinary establishment but also to sit next to one another. I am happy to report that they were incredibly well behaved. They made us proud (as always, of course!).

Clean up

Once the snow had slowed (though not stopped completely), Derek and Maïa went out to shovel and clean off the car. You might be able to make out Maïa cleaning off the car with her mitt... it would take a long time to do it that way!! Derek gave her a hand spade (you know, the little ones you use to garden) so she could help him dig out. Mostly, she just played and ate snow.

Welcome to Montreal

It has been snowing all night, and as I write this, it's still going. School buses aren't running, daycares are closed, our street is almost impassable. It is winter! For those of you not in this part of the world, here are some images...

This is our car... somewhere under there...


This is our street, with buried cars


This is our livingroom window


Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!!

Tufty

When she was born, Solanne had a fine dusting of blond hair on her head, just as her sister had. But there was one difference: Solanne had this little bit of dark, thick hair on the side of her head, just above her left ear. And when her newborn down fell out, the tuft of hair stayed, stubbornly. And it often stuck out, defying us to tame it (which has always been impossible).

So when Solanne's hair began to grow back, the tuft remained, longer than the rest and defiant as ever. Nowadays, it's generally only noticeable to us, sticking out ever so slightly (though still untameable). But yesterday, it came back in full force, so I had to capture it for you.

And this is how Solanne got the nickname "Tufty."

Milestone: A visit to the ER

It has been a hectic week here. Last Thursday, Maïa got sick and then got a runny nose. She's recovering alright. Then Solanne got it, and it was a whole other ball of wax.

On Tuesday, Sol developed a fever, but it was low-grade and she was pretty much herself, only she slept a little more than usual. That night, she slept poorly (and a so did Mum!). Then yesterday, she was limp and listless. She slept in my arms most of the day. By the evening, she had a 40.1C fever (about 104F). I brought her to the emergency at the Children's Hospital.

We got through triage quickly and saw a doctor right away. Because Solanne was so weak and hadn't eaten or drank anything all day, they decided that they had to put her on an IV. To me, this was good news because I knew it would make her better. What I didn't bank on was the horror she would feel at being poked and prodded the way she was. I am not complaining, because I know it was all necessary, but it was hard to watch them insert a catheter to get a urine sample, and even more heart-wrenching to watch helplessly as the nurse tried three times to get a vein, only to have two of them collapse. The third stayed. In went the IV, and Sol's little arm was taped to a board to keep her from bending it.

I felt terrible for her. I couldn't believe that my little girl had to go through this. Once they had a good drip going, we were sent to Observation, where we spent the night. Solanne had to stay on the IV until she was willing to drink. Well, there's one thing I have to say for my girl: she has her opinions. She did not want to drink. So we stayed until 5 am, until I convinced her to take a few sips of pedialyte. And we went home, groggy, but happy to get back.

Through it all, though, I am immensely thankful. One: that the only thing wrong with her was an ear infection and dehydration. Two: that we have a medical system that works, most of the time. Three: that I didn't have to pay a cent to have access to quality care. Four: that we live in 2005, and not 1905, when a high fever and an ear infection might have killed my baby.

And as I type this, Solanne is in bed, fever-free. By early this evening, she was walking around again, talking, signing. She even learned two new (verbal) words this evening: "suce" (pacifier) and "dada." All in a day's work for her, I guess.

Christmas decorating

Tonight, we got our home ready for Christmas. There's nothing like a deadline to get us moving, so we planned a Christmas party for Saturday (for colleagues of Derek's). Last night, Derek set out the Christmas knick-knacks and put up the tree. Tonight, when Maïa got home from daycare, I put the lights and garland in, and Maïa helped put the decorations on the tree. Of course, if it were up to Maïa, all the ornaments would be on one branch. So we've taught her that they have to go on different branches. Then the decorations were on the lower third of the tree. Don't tell Maïa, but I had to move a bunch of them.

So for your viewing enjoyment, here are shots of our tree: pre-decorations, and post-Mom-intervention decorations.

The magic of disappearing

There is something magical about babies. Beyond the diapers and the vomit, the sleepless nights and the lack of a social life, the crying and the whining, the mess and the mayhem... beyond all these, there is the magic of wonder. Wonder in the sense of awe, but wonder also in the sense of "I wonder what in the world she is thinking?"

Being home with Solanne every day, all day, I know her better than anyone. This was not true with Maïa, with whom I was home for about 7 months, and then I set off to work while Dad stayed home. So this is all new to me. A few months ago, pre-signs, pre-words, Solanne would look at me in a certain way, and I would know that she needed a drink, or to be picked up, or to go to sleep. It's always been obvious to me but a great mystery to those observing us (especially those who do not have children of their own). It was like we had this cosmic connection, or at least a cosmic joke, just between the two of us. But it was more than that.

Our communication was subtle. Without a word, Solanne could convey a need, a feeling, a mood, and a wish, all at once. And, if I wasn't immediately busy with her sister or some other task, I would happily grant her wish. Her looks were infinitely more complex than a word might ever have conveyed. And because of it, she seemed, even as an older baby, to have a deep wisdom, one which people often associate with newborns.

Formal communication has begun to remove this mysetery, this connection, between the two of us. Now, when she wants to drink, anyone who knows that an index finger to the mouth means "I'm thirsty" can fulfill her wish. Of course, it's less stress on me, and I'm thrilled by the fact that she's started to "verbalise." But it's like she's slowly being taken from me and given to the world.

This, of course, is the plight of parenthood. I love these two children more than anyone in the whole world. I would do anything for them. And for now, they love me more fiercely than anyone else (I share that honour with their Dad). But one day, and I know it will feel like seconds from now, they will grow to love others more. And that's normal. And that's devastating. So I hold onto them a few seconds longer than they would like when they come over for a hug, peek in on them when they sleep, soak up their laughter with every fibre of my soul because I want to keep them mine just a little longer.

@ Nana and Grampa's

Every year, around this time, the descendants of Nana Sandie and Grampa Ken come back home to prepare the family homestead for Christmas. So Mum and Dad packed up the girls and headed out to eastern Ontario (there's no town: it's in the middle of nowhere, which is great!). It was also uncle Pat's birthday, so we celebrated that, too.

Now preparing for Christmas at Nana and Grampa's involves the usual: you know, decorating, listening to Christmas music, eating lots of food... In the decorating realm, there are a few things that one must know to fully understand what it means to decorate Nana's house: there are a lot of decorations. They date back to before Nana and Grampa even met. Every year, there's one monologue that goes like this:

Grampa: See those decorations? I brought those from Toronto, from the place I shared with Marilyn (his sister). Those date back to... geez... 1972, 1973!

And there's also the decorations that Derek and his brothers made when they were little - paper snowmen, construction paper trees, a graham cracker house that we have to warn the kids not to eat... And they all have a special meaning. Last year, our little family added to the home-made decorations. Maïa made a paper ornament that has her little handprint on it. So there are many things that need to find a spot in the house, and we all help out (luckily, along with the accrued number of decorations over time, the family has also grown, so there's more help... I think it all evens out in the end).

There is one more part of the decorating that is a mainstay in the house: the Village. I imagine that at one point in time it was called the "Christmas village," but the name has had to change over the years. Now it's more of a snowy scene of bloody violence. I guess that comes naturally in a house of boys (ah, the special grace of God to have sent us two girls...). Since I have been around to help decorate, Derek's younger brothers have always set up the Village, so I just thought the violent tendencies were theirs alone. Turns out I was wrong. This year, Pat and Derek worked together on the Village, and it's just as gory as ever. In this incarnation, there's a three-way battle going on, the details of which I'm sure Derek could explain far more intricately than I could ever try to do (or really want to).

I must admit, though, that setting up dioramas is lots of fun. And I must also admit that the guys are really good at doing it, and I laughed more than once as I took a look at their work (and then again much more, as the two photographed their work with great care). So I've put some of the pics up here so that the faithful readers of this blog could get a little insight into Derek and his brothers... and to chuckle along with all of us who witnessed the Village first-hand.

I think that we will add in a Christmas village into our own tradition. I look forward to seeing how it evolves over the years as the girls add in their own touches.

P.S. Happy Advent