My holiday story:
At the end of December my son’s preschool decided to have an after-work event at which parents would construct gingerbread houses for their children to decorate in school the following day.
My wife and two of her close friends whose children are in my son’s class decided this would be a fun event for the dads, and that’s how this whole thing got started.
Laird, Tim, and I found ourselves in a room full of moms, trying to follow instructions from Miss Stacy and Miss April. (Mind you, I’d recently taught my son to say “Miss April, you are so pretty!” and then ask for an extra cookie. My wife told Miss April of this and thus I had to avoid Miss April that night. But that’s a different story.)
Everything went smoothly at first – Laird, Tim and I built our prefab houses and held our own against the moms.
But then Tim had to go and build a chimney.
Not to be outdone, I landscaped my house’s yard with graham cracker dust (dirt) and broccoli (trees). It looked pretty good.
Meanwhile Laird had built an entire deck, complete with ramp.
Seeing this, I decided to scrap my entire house and start over.
1/2 hour later found three dudes trying desperately to complete a 2-story octagonal masterpiece while the moms pointed and laughed (at us, not with us) and Miss Stacy stared with a look that said “all I wanted was an hour away from 2-year olds but apparently that was too much to ask.”
Our house kicked butt though, really.
What are your holiday stories?
(P.S. All questions to date have been answered in the last entry.)