Timber!

I woke up this morning to find Shaggy sitting at the table drawing Christmas pictures.

'Angie, I think Peter needs a haircut!'

'He has an appointment this afternoon - I told you that yesterday. You never listen to anything I say!'

'Yeah, yeah, I just...uh...what were you saying?'

Angie's huff is not nearly as cute as her puff, but I was too busy making pickled eggs to notice.

Pickled eggs take about two days for the beets to turn the entire egg pink, so you can probably guess at which feast they will be devoured. If not, you're a moron.

As Mama dragged Shaggy off kicking and screaming to his showdown with a barber, I was busy rounding up David and Tom, who were this year's Christmas tree hunters. David ran off to get his 'hunter costume' on.

'What do you think, Papa?'

'You sure you want to open Pandora's box?'

'Who is Pandora?'

'Never mind, let's go! We've got a tree to find!'

When we got to the tree dealer, I saw this cheerful Santa greeting people that like to spend a shitload of money to kill trees.

Last year, Peter was the 'Tree Hunter', so I reflected on the 'Lessons Learned' and laid down a few rules:

1. If you need to pee, you go in the bushes; there are no toilets here - trust me, I know.
2. We are not leaving the plot with the pre-cut trees; ignore the forest over there where you cut your own tree down.
3. We are on a time clock; if you don't find the perfect tree after 20 minutes, Papa decides.
4. Mama said she wants a tall tree this year.
5. David is the one picking the tree this year; what he picks is what we get. Tommy, you're the helper; next year you get to choose.

David walked into the tree farm and made a bee-line to the first tree he saw.

'I want this one!'

I was about to chastise him for not even looking around, but then I remembered the two and a half hours it took for Peter to find the 'perfect tree'. I whistled to the guy in overalls.

'We'll take this one.'

I shit you not; we spent more time trying to get the tree in the car than we did picking it. At one point, the man in overalls strolled by and snickered.

'You might have to leave the kids to fit that tree in.'

'Okay, thanks. I'll pick them up next year.'

At that point, the overalls-dude walked away rather quickly and I turned to see Tommy's lip quivering.

'Papa, I don't want to stay here.'

'Then you better help me squish our tree into the Pedato-mobile.'

In the end, I put David into the trunk and asked him bend the tree into positions that would probably embarrass normal evergreens. Then I slammed the trunk shut and told David to high-crawl over the back seat and buckle up.

All was fine and dandy until I tried sticking the tree into the tree stand. That's when I realized that I had the tree stand for big trees and what I needed was the stand for Redwoods in disguise.

'No problem, Opa gave me a saw one time and I'm pretty sure I can figure out how to use it.'

Angie smirked and Peter almost cried.

'Maybe we can get a new tree tomorrow.'

In the true spirit of Christmas, I ignored annoying family members and focused on the task at hand. When that failed, I tried using the saw as an axe in a way that only Jeffrey Dahmer could appreciate.

Fifteen minutes and a half-gallon of sweat later, I finally answered Peter's fifth offer to help me.

'Sure, can you get me a beer?'

Peter raced off and Angie stepped in.

'Don't you think we should make sure the tree can actually stand first? 

'Calm down, Negative Nancy - we'll get it to work.'

After half a beer, I had whittled down the oversized stump to get it to fit into the stand.

'It's not straight.'

Peter tried briefly to argue with Mama that it was straight, but I've been down this road before, so I simply dropped to the stand and released the grips and told Angie to move it to her ideal latitude and longitude. When she had it in the right position, I racketed the clamps and stood back to admire our tree.

I looked over and saw that our cat had also come in, not so much as to admire, but rather to gape in absolute confusion as to why Master had brought a forest into the living room. Just then, the tree came crashing down and damn near killed our bewildered cat, who justifiably took off running to unknown hiding places.

I laughed, Angie glared, and Peter cried.

'Christmas is ruined! We don't have a tree!'

I interrupted drama boy and assured him that I would erect that tree if it took me all night. Then, well, it really did take me all night. In the end, I almost gave up.

'Honey, the tree is simply too big for the stand. I'll go tomorrow and buy a bigger stand.'

'What? The stand is not the problem.'

I knew that Angie was right, but I still think that buying a bigger stand would have also solved the problem.

Instead of explaining my brain's logic, I dropped down and scooched under the tree to the stand. Angie leveled the tree and I focused on the stand, which was rising up off the ground at a slight angle as Angie found her sweet spot. I pounded the stand to the ground with my fist, admittedly too hard, and then punched the clamps. From underneath the tree, I asked for Angie's assessment.

'Much better! It's stable, it's straight.'

Okay, I would have expected a 'thank you' or a simple 'people should pay you for interviews'. Luckily, like my children, I am accustomed to disappointment.

After finally getting the tree erected, I looked around for Lukie. He wasn't hit, but after almost being killed by falling pine trees, I could understand that he was not exactly in the Christmas spirit. Or was he?

--------------------------------------------
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: That Paul came over and that we got the Christmas tree.
David: That Paul was here and we all had fun.
Tom: That we did the Christmas tree.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: That it didn't work by the first 25 times that we tried to stand up the Christmas tree.
David: That the Christmas tree didn't fit in the car.
Tom: That we did with extra in the cave a bench and then we can't watch TV.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: I want to get good presents and get done the presents I need to get done.
David: I want to have good presents and that others like my presents.
Tom: That I have a good day and not a bad day.

Chili, Fire & Hooch

That's right, baby - we ended the year off proper. I was worried that my old man's recipe for Shit-Hot Chili might not clinch it, so I also boiled up a bunch of eggs and made my own doctored-up version of deviled eggs. Man, next year's gonna stink. 

I spent the morning running around the city buying last minute ingredients. Chili is apparently not native to Germany, so it took quite a few stops at specialty stores to get the good stuff. After almost a decade of marital confinement, I've grown to be a very patient man, so I calmly waited in line at three different stores along with two hundred other idiots who also chose to go shopping just hours before the stores closed for New Year's. What a buncha maroons!

After the last-minute grocery run, I locked myself into the kitchen. Angie chose that point in her universe to announce that she was going clothes shopping with her mom. Rather than bicker with the mother of my children on the timing of her shopping spree, I wished the mother of my wife pleasant spending and racked my brains on how to tame wild ones.

Bingo! Thank you, Nintendo.

Shortly before our chili cook-off, Nicole showed up and took over distraction duty. In addition to Nintendo, David has recently become addicted to Monopoly. We now have the Monopoly Junior, the regular Monopoly, the Star Wars Monopoly and the Monopoly Banker editions. I can only hope that David's fascination with the credit card machine in Monopoly Banker is an indication of a future profession. Make Papa rich, buddy!

Speaking of addictions, Sarah showed Tommy how to cook things with spoons after dinner.

When I questioned Tommy's Godmother as to why she would be teaching my third-born the art of crack cocaine, she got all defensive and claimed that it was just another bizarre German tradition. We go through this exercise every year, but it still ceases to amaze me. Apparently, my wife's people melt hollow chunks of lead and then throw the liquid metal into water. They then analyze the resulting shape, which will supposedly tell your future. I thought it was complete crap, but I tried it and my metal blobby thing looked like a beer bottle. Hey, who am I to argue with fate?

After drinking a beer for the gods, Sarah busted out an equally fun game - Qwirkle. Sebastian was quick to scoff and point out that the game was for ages 6+.

So, yeah - after ten minutes, Sebastian still hadn't gotten the grasp of the game. We sent Peter over to be a special 'advisor' on Sebastian's team. Two minutes later, Sebastian and Peter were winning. Coincidence? I think not. 

I know, I know, Peter is older than 6+. Sorry, but so is Sebastian. 

After hours of fun, we checked the clock. Seven minutes 'til midnight. At that point, Angie and I collectively realized that on average it takes fifteen minutes to get our boys shoed and jacketed, not to mention that we had Chiara and Alessio. Oh, shit.

As the women and children freaked out, I did what any self-loving man would do in a stressful situation and secured the alcohol. Mumms the word.

Peter and David have both had their 'Wow' year when it comes to fireworks. It only happens once in a kid's lifetime. The year prior, they're half asleep and slobbering on your shoulder as the sky explodes. The year after, it's all 'yeah, cool, but I've seen that before'. Last year, Tommy was drooling at midnight and could not be bothered with why his ears were bleeding. This year, he was definitely in 'Wow' mode.

The big boys were also in 'Wow' mode, thanks to Papa buying a shitload of fireworks. My only mistake was allowing Angie to help light them.

So yeah, in addition to dinners, fingers are apparently on Angie's short list of things that she inadvertently sets on fire. At least David reacted when his mother starting screaming like a banshee and waving a flaming digit.

I applauded David's moving display of concern. Even so, I felt that a breathalyzer test was in order to determine the origin of the fire.

'Angie, front and center!'

Amazingly enough, Angie passed with flying papers. Tommy, on the other breath, was running on fumes and starting to get his giddy on. It's hard to believe, but he was giggling more than the adults. Keep winking Angie - you're killin' him!

'Tommy, are you getting tired?'

'No, Papa, you are the tire! Hahahahahahaha...'

I ignore weird family members on a tri-daily basis, so I walked away from Giggle-boy and One-eye and ventured off to check on Peter and David, who were trying desperately to blow up a park bench. I weighed my parental responsibilities and came damn close to showing them where they would need to place the charges to actually get the bench airborne. Instead, I wondered back over to check on my third-born.

'Hey, buddy - are you sure you're not getting sleepy?'

A picture is worth a thousand winks, so we closed the outdoor events with Zombie-boy's goodnight stare.

When we got back to the house, two interesting things happened. The first is that Sebastian decided to torment our cat with remote-controlled cars that are apparently irresistible to felines.

The second noteworthy event was that Tommy got his second wind. He also donned a pair of sun glasses and announced to parents that didn't care in the least that 'I a cool boy why I these glasses have'.

'Yup. Cooler than a mime. Now go to bed!'

'Okay, g'night!'

I was shocked, but I didn't show it. Don't jinx it man, just walk away.

After letting the kids settle themselves, the adults hunkered down to get our game on. We ruled out Qwirkle, but mainly because Peter wasn't around to 'advise' Sebastian. In the end, we settled for a long morning of me spanking everyone in poker. I know, I know - same shit, different year.
--------------------------------------------
Ladder Talk: [In addition to Papa, the young pups were in no condition to do Ladder Talk]
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz.............
David: ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz.............
Tom: ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz.............

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz.............
David: ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz.............
Tom: ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz.............

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz.............
David: ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz.............
Tom: ZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzz.............

Pre-flight checks

Today started out with an Angie freak-out that was so predicted that I could have set my watch to it. Allow me to explain:

• She is flying with David to America tomorrow
• She had not yet packed

That's it. Trust me, it doesn't take much to trigger an Angie-plosion. Luckily, I am the modern day Nostradamus and saw this meltdown coming two days ago when I first innocently asked my ball of tension if she had packed yet. It had less to do with how she growled at me and more to do with the thousand-yard stare that accompanied her primal reply. It was at that point that I started thinking about what I could do with the boys on T minus 1 to get far, far away from suitcases and negative stress.

In the end, I took the animals to the zoo. Well, not all of them. I sacrificed David to pack with the Predator and quickly escaped with buddies 1 and 3. I felt bad, but only briefly. David was going on his 'pre-school trip' that started as a tradition with Peter's trip to Africa in the summer before he started school.

David starts school in the fall and up until two weeks ago, I had planned to take Destructo Dave to Disney World in Orlando to see what damage we could smack on Mickey and his goofy friends. It only took one tiny trip to the doctor's to find out why my calves were turning black to be diagnosed with varicose veins that need to be removed immediately. This inconvenient medical setback meant that I will be operated on in two weeks and cannot fly. [Exit Steve, enter Angie]

After our last trip to the States, at least our passports are ALL up to date, so Angie's only worry was picking out clothes and stuffing them into a padded rectangle. My only worry was making sure that Peter and Tommy weren't horsing around at the zoo.

Tommy assured me that he wasn't, but something about his mischievous grin made me nervous. I decided to ignore him for the moment and check on Peter. Monkey boy announced to me from the rafters that he wants to be a swinger when he grows up. Don't we all.

I decided not to stroll down the rocky path of non-monogamous explanations. Instead, I marched on with my goal of tuckering out three-year olds. It started with a real cliff-hanger.

As everyone knows, what goes up must come down. What might not be common knowledge is that if you forget to apply light pressure when sliding down a pole, you slam into the dirt below like a sack of potatoes.

Shortly after this shot, we were reminded by friendly zoo folk carrying shovels and smelling like poop that wailing like a kid who had just pile-drived himself tends to scare the animals. Thanks, Dolittle.

I borrowed the good doctor's shovel and scraped up a pile of Tommy from the sand. After some minor tears and some major hugs, I was able to release potatoes back into the wild. 

This picture is actually shortly after the second tear-worthy crash of the day. It happened approximately six steps before this shot, when Tommy lost his balance and tumbled headfirst into the weeds. They look soft and cushiony, but trust Tommy's lungs, they were not. At least he inherited Mama's stubborn gene, prompting him to shoo away helping hands; he had a log to cross and by damn if anyone got in his way.

Meanwhile, back in the jungle, Angie had not progressed any further with packing. I discovered this when we came back and Angie was in front of Crackbook looking guilty but amused. Amusement got the better of her. 

'Hey, you gotta check out this video - it's a cat chasing a flashlight and...'

'Yeah, cute. Did you pack?'

'Um, did you want to have coffee?'

'Did you pack?'

'Oh hey, while you guys were gone, Davey did the funniest ...'

'DID YOU PACK, WOMAN???!!!'

Angie is not prone to whimpering, but her 'not yet' came damn close. As I scolded her with my eyes, Tommy strolled by and asked why Mama would be packing. We explained for the 200th time that Mama would be flying away with David for a week. For the 200th time, Tommy refused to accept this and demanded that we pack his suitcase because 'I are too going'. 

Tommy is prone to whimpering and his 'fine, then I'll go by me-self' comment told me that he was still in denial. Married men know that you should not try and pet mad dogs; nothing you do will make them happy. Sometimes, it's better just to let the crazy pup build a 'super-fly box to take me to Uhmerika'.

Speaking of crazy animals, Tommy wasn't the only one petrified at the thought of a week alone with Papa. Luke apparently built his own flying contraption and looked ready for takeoff. He had even packed one of the kid's toy bug-bots for the flight.

--------------------------------------------
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: When I was a big bird with little wings.
David: When I can pack my new game.
Tom: When I build my spaceship.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When Tommy was screaming so loud by the zoo.
David: I didn't have a bad part.
Tom: When I go aaagghh-boom and owa.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: To go to the swimming pool.
David: To fly to America.
Tom: To fly to Uhmerika.

Lost and Found

I'll get into how I almost killed our family pet later; first, I'd like to pick up from the last blog. For those of you with short attention spans, it's the one that ended with a triumphant Mama flaunting her de-piping skills and gloating about digging out Peter's tooth from thirty years of yuck. Yeah, bravo, honey. You do realize that you've now stereotyped yourself as the one to tackle the disgusting jobs. By the way, Tommy's on the toilet and he's calling for you.

After getting Gap boy back to bed, I came out to find Plumber chick putting on her coat.

'I'm going out.'

'Hard day at the office?'

'Very funny - don't forget Peter's loot.'

As the front door shut, I realized that I've never actually done the whole tooth-for-cash switcheroo. My first thought was 'how hard can it be?' Since I always trust my gut and its feelings, I decided that the best course of action was to ignore the tooth factor, drink a beer and try to piss off people on Facebook.

After an hour of visiting various Farmville fan pages and posting 'Farmer Dell called - he'd like his life back', I decided it was time to head to bed. As I was brushing my teeth, I remembered that I had forgotten to deceive my son. How could I forget? That's normally the highlight of my evening.

I rushed into his room with a handful of coinage thinking 'this can't be that hard'. I inserted my money hand under his pillow and was about to release when his eyes popped open.

'Papa?'
[awkward pause]

'Peter, I thought I heard you screaming. Are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?'

Peter didn't answer; he just drifted off back to sleep. I waited a second for my heart to stop pounding and for Peter to start snoring. Then I dropped the money load and held my breath, waiting for the clinking of metal to wake him again. Luckily, he gets his sleeping patterns from Mama.

I went to bed, content with myself that I had not only lied to my son quite convincingly, but that I had also continued on a tradition of making him believe in things that will probably not last more than another year. At least for Peter.

As I laid down to go to sleep, I thought about what I should dream about. I hate nightmares, so I ruled out the U.S. elections right from the start. I was still debating between mustard-flavored beer and bacon-scented candles when it hit me. Shit! I never took his tooth!

I leaped out of bed and raced into his room, tip-toeing the last few steps. I lifted his pillow gently and started frantically fishing around for Gap boy's calcium deposit. Where the hell is it? For the second time, Peter's eyes popped open.

'Papa?'
[awkward pause]

'Listen, Peter - I can't keep coming in here every five minutes. If you need the bathroom, just go. If it's a nightmare, you need to tell me. Otherwise, stop calling for me to come in here and just go to sleep!'

'Okay, Papa - sorry.'

It's the 'sorry' that made me almost cry. Luckily, I'm a manly man who would never shed a tear. I'm also the guy who pawns off plumbing chores to his wife so I'm fully aware that there are some minor inconsistencies with my whole 'manly man' image. Shut up. I'm Metro.

In the end, I was able to steal Peter's tooth for Angie's slightly less than disturbing little collection. I was also able to sleep easy, even after lying to my son. I went with the bacon-scented candles, by the way.

In the morning, I was awoken by Angie accusing me that I had killed our cat. Talk about your attention-grabbing wake-up calls.

'Good morning to you, too. Glad you made it home safe.'

'Luke is gone! When I left, he was here. Where is he?'

Angie didn't even wait for an answer. Instead, she yelled her theory at me that I must have let Luke out on the balcony while getting a beer. Luke was no longer on the balcony, which clearly meant that he had jumped down two stories and ran away to quietly freeze to death in the middle of the night.

I have to be honest; she did have me feeling guilty enough to launch a series of search expeditions. Angie and Peter demanded the first shift and I was next on the duty roster. We took turns and spent several hours combing the streets of Heidelberg for a cat that likes to attack toilet paper. I even asked the homeless people in a park nearby if they had seen a cat. Most shrugged, but one guy with huge pupils actually responded.

'Cats? I've seen millions of them - they're everywhere!'

Before crazy dude decided to join the search party, I gave up and reluctantly headed back to explain to the Zoo how sorry Papa was that he had killed the family pet. Angie gave me eye-daggers when I walked in empty handed and decided that a little salt needed to be added.

'What are we going to tell Davey? He's spending the night with Grams and Opa, but it was HIS cat.'

The 'how could you?' wasn't verbalized, but it was definitely there. Angie has a knack for ignoring the fact that you already feel bad and making sure that you pay for your mistakes. It's almost biblical.

I was on the computer preparing 'Missing Pet' flyers when our elderly neighbor from upstairs rang the doorbell. I answered.

'I think I've found your cat.'

'I love you.'

Despite the confused look she gave me, she pointed to a spot in our stairwell that was lined with potted indoor plants. It took me a second to see the two gray-blackish ears poking out from behind the greenage.

I scooped up Luke and pranced back into the house to find a very red-cheeked woman scrambling to save her soul.

'My theory is that Luke jumped from the balcony and ran around the building and waited in the freezing cold until someone opened the front door. He then sneaked back into the house and hid out in the stairwell.'

'Thanks, Watson, but my theory is that when YOU came home from your girl's night out, you might have possibly - and I don't know, this is just a guess - left the front door open long enough for Luke to escape like he does anytime anyone leaves the front door open, but not long enough for him to come back in. Because, for me - call me crazy - that would explain why our cat was cowering behind one of the plants located in the stairwell just outside our front door.'

I've learned at work recently that 'silence is acceptance' so I accepted Angie's silence and moved on. It took all of the afternoon and a good portion of the evening before Luke would even hiss at us. At one point, we reached what I would like to call 'a tit for tat'. The 'tit' would be us (Angie) locking him out in our heated stairwell. The 'tat' would be that Luke scooped up one of Angie's new white slippers. I actually cheered him on as he ran off to find a suitable hiding place.
--------------------------------------------
Ladder Talk:
1) What was the best part of your day?
Peter: That I go to Arman's and the tooth fairy gave me more money and that we found Luke.
David: That I woke up at Grams and Opa.
Tom: To look T.V.

2) What was the worst part of your day?
Peter: When we didn't know where Luke is.
David: That I wanted to lay on the bed but I banged my head on a book.
Tom: When you said 'Come!' as I play cars with Peter.

3) What would you like to do tomorrow?
Peter: I want to go in the school and say 'Kaboomba!'
David: To sleep by Grams and Opa.
Tom: I want to play in kindergarten cars.