We wish you a merry Christmas.

It's just a little more magical with children around.

Happy Christmas Eve.

We're moving to Dallas!

I've been meaning to blog this forever. Sorry.

at&t offered us a job last September. We accepted said job at the end of November. And then we waited and waited for our assigned location. And we finally found out a couple of weeks ago. It was almost anti-climactic. "We could go anywhere!" we would tell people. And it was true. But Dallas is included in that category. So, we head North to being *real life (again) in mid-February. Until then, we are in the land of endless vacation.


*You know, like grown ups, making money and all sorts of crazy stuff.  Maybe there will even be a yard in our future.

So.

I know some people feel like they need to have snow around in the winter time. "It doesn't feel like Christmas... blah blah blah." Not me. I am digging this weather.

Notice the bare feet.

It's not just because I couldn't catch Ella before she ran outside. This is bonafide bare-footedness. High-seventies here.

Gloria in excelsis Deo.

And on earth peace, goodwill to men.

The Fam.

Well, it was a big weekend for us, as you know. We are done with school! Although Paul did inform me this weekend that he might like to go back to get his Ph.D. Wha?! I told him that when we are independently wealthy he can do whatever he wants.

Paul's parents Jeff and Susan, and his Grandma, Wild Wilda, came out for graduation and we had a wonderful time. There were two graduation ceremonies, the MBA hooding ceremony, and the regular graduation, and I think Paul was glad that he did both, but I sure did my darnedest to get everyone to skip the school graduation, because who wants to watch twelve hundred people walk across a stage? I was in the hallway a lot of the time, trying to keep the girls happy. But they did sing the fight song at the end of the school graduation and that is kind of a big deal at A&M, and I wanted to be down swaying with the grads in that moment, so I'm glad Paul got to be there for that. One last fight song.

The way graduation went is, they called your name, you picked up your diploma and little pockets of people (presumably those who came to see you) would clap or whoop or whatever. I tried to listen and cheer for the people who didn't have a lot of clapping. It's the least you can do. Besides, I kind of like cheering. Well, when the last name was called, the room spontaneously erupted in cheering, and it would have been fun to be that guy. I was kind of jealous. I don't get a lot of cheering in my life. I think if people could cheer at church, I might get some there. I give pretty good talks, and I hold my own on the piano. But, we Mormons are a little lacking in the "spirit" department. (As in "We've got spirit, yes we do", not the other kind.)

In any case, we all cheered for Paul. So that was nice I guess. I still regret that I didn't yell something like, "You're hot!" or "Way to go, Lover!". There's always next time, I guess. I think cat-calling will be a nice touch when Paul gets his next degree.

Three Letters.

M.B.A.

On a related note. I think my M.R.S. is really paying off.

Congratulations, Paul.

Date Night

Last weekend our high school put on the play Cinderella, and one of my Laurels had the lead, so naturally I wanted to attend. And decided that Ella would make a nice date for the event. So we dressed up. (Yes, I did coordinate our outfits so we are both wearing black and brown.) And headed out for the night. She did great. No problems at all the first act, and about two-thirds of the way into the second act she was ready to go. But, I made her wait it out. And she still wasn't too disruptive. We sat in the front row, and I think that it helped to be so close to the action.

How wonderful to finally have a daughter who is old enough to attend events that are mutually enjoyable. The future is bright.

Turning thirty... again.

"Thirty!?"  You say.  But how can a woman born in 1982 possibly have reached thirty so early.  Well.  I'll tell you.  Beginning last year, I decided to forgo the formalities of an accurate age and simply round to the nearest pentade.  That means that I will be turning thirty for the next four years.  At which point I plan on rounding to thirty-five for a while.  And then forty.  And so on.  That is, until I hit sixty.  At that point I'm switching to decades.  Until I hit 100.  And then I will switch back to precise age measurement.  Because once you are one hundred, you gain a lot of clout for an extra year or too.

Here's the thing.  Everyone else kind of generalizes age.  ("Oh, she's in her thirties.")  So why shouldn't I just beat them to the punch?

And then you don't have to stop and think, twice a year, when someone actually asks how old you are, to remember how many candles were on the last cake.  After five years of turning thirty, I am dang well going to have an answer ready at hand.

Besides, it's cool to be thirty.

And, as we all know, I am always cool.