All The Christmas News You Don't Need and More - 2009

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from our family to yours! We hope this finds you and your family happy and healthy. God has again been unbelievably good to us this year and we are grateful. We hope that he has been good to you and your family as well but we keep all those suffering through these times in our thoughts and prayers just in case it has been difficult for you. We know that this year has certainly gifted our family with a renewed sense of how interconnected we all truly are and that we really are here to help one another as Christ’s servants.

Now, given our over inflated sense of importance, we wanted to let you know about some of the phenomenal things that occurred in the Anchaya-Pepper household in 2009.

But first, we want to firmly emphasize that we again made it through an entire year without any legal action being taken against anyone in our little clan. Amazing but true.

As a family, we heard the quote, “This year has been unique, unequaled and unparalleled” used precisely 16.73 gazillion times by the press. Of course, this statement clearly begs the question – how many extra points do reporters and writers get if they use three adjectives all together in the same sentence that not only start with the same letter but mean exactly the same thing? From our perspective, the year was certainly distinct, dissimilar, divergent and different from any we had experienced before but we didn’t need even one of the 16.73 gazillion reminders. We were already quite aware of this being an unique year as four out of four of us managed to personally attain an age we had never experienced before. And this was without incident. Well, except for the one who is getting old. And, surely there is some research that says crying and gnashing of teeth really isn’t all that bad.

As you would expect, Mia and Aidan accomplished the most superlative things again his year. Mia set the world record for the length of time one can jump up and down while screaming. We attempted to get her into the Guinness book of World Records but they apparently couldn’t hear us over the din each time we called them to suggest the same. However, we are still hopeful. Mia also learned to distinguish between appropriate and inappropriate attire for a young girl by using her own guidelines of “princess dress or tutu” and “not princess dress or tutu” and then emphatically communicated the same when her guidelines were not met. She is willing to suffer for her art and the rest of us generally just suffer. Mia is ever vigilant against being inappropriately dressed and quickly removes anything that she arbitrarily deems not befitting of a princess. Like socks. Pajamas. Or a jacket. This is an amazing skill to watch, especially when it is performed while she is in her five-point-restraint car seat. We would like to emphasize that we only use this seat when we are going somewhere in the car despite the obvious attraction of using it all the time.

Aidan is again at the front of his class. Thanks to the amazing foresight of his parents, he is alphabetically superior. Other than naming him A. Aidan Anchaya, we couldn’t have done a heck of a lot better. He has also joined the Boy Scouts where he has spent a copious amount of time learning how to blow things up. The Scouting Expo also taught him how to make a stove that burns with a totally invisible flame that can melt steel in less than one minute which is a skill every first grader certainly needs. He hasn’t put his eye out yet, but we believe he will have that opportunity again at next year’s Expo.

Now, in 2008, we went an awesome vacation with my folks to Yosemite and you know we always try to top ourselves. So, this year, we went on two excursions, an almost free trip to Sea World and then another one with the Boy Scouts despite my concerns of somehow being blown up or incinerated by invisible flames. For the first trip, we agreed to tour a property for sale in exchange for free housing and cheap tickets to see Shamu. Oddly, when all four of us arrived for our tour in our “We love Primitive Camping!” shirts which we thoughtfully purchased especially for the occasion, they didn’t even show us around the property for sale. They even kindly set a timer to let us know the very second they could hastily escort us off the premises. Really.

Our second vacation was even more exciting. We went on something inaccurately billed as “camping.” Actually, it was one of those extreme Survivor stunts where we had to live and sleep in a cold pond as record rains filled up our tent. Now, it could be strongly suggested that we didn’t bring the right gear but for marital harmony, I don’t think I’ll point out that the husband insisted he loaded the car with “all that we needed”. In a very exciting Déjà vu moment, I was rescued by two kind Scouts who escorted me out of the woods in a blinding downpour by using their flashlights which were remarkably similar to the flashlight carried by the Ranger who hauled me out of the woods in Yosemite last year. Oddly, it was also remarkably similar to those flashlights in our home that the car packer decided did not fit the category of “something we needed”. During the year we also had the good fortune to attend my youngest brother’s wedding. It was a blast and it gave us the opportunity to perfect the art of taking family pictures while looking in any direction but that of the camera.

We are sorry to report that we did somehow miss dress-like-a-cow day this year at Chic-Filet. Robert so clearly enjoyed it last year. The mystery of how the day was marked incorrectly on his social calendar remains unsolved.

We would love to hear what is going on in your life unless you want to tell us all about how much fun dress-like-a-cow day was for you. Can’t have two of us gnashing our teeth. We would also appreciate prayers for both of our fathers as they both fight cancer with incredible grace and upbeat spirits.

May the peace of our Lord be with you and your family this year.

Joan, Robert, Adian and Mia

Rudolph Really Blows

Thanks to the son, we had some new and, in my esteemed and highly biased opinion, much more appropriate lyrics in our house this year for that annoying ditty about that poor reindeer who didn't get to play any reindeer games but then came through at the last minute to help a bunch of ignorant brutes in the true spirit of Christmas. Obviously, the deer was Irish.

I mean, here's a reindeer who was ostracized and demeaned by his peers on a regular and continuing basis for either having either a wee bit of Irish rosecea on his nose or a great love of fine Irish whiskey. Now, the acne theory is the most probable given the deer's excellent and presumed sober driving ability and his residence at the North Pole which is generally not considered to be anywhere near Ireland and Irish whiskey. Well, except by those educated in America where the geographical theory seems to be, "We are in America. What else do you need to know?" As an aside, it is worth noting that Santa is clearly Irish as evidenced by his giving spirit, glowing cheeks and his ability to drive especially well in fog, the official weather of Ireland.

But, some credence could also be given to the red-nosed drinking theory as it is a known fact that Irish whiskey is good to cure all that ails you and these cures can start young. Teething? Rub some on. Kid gets a cut, pour some on. Kills the germs and fixes it right up. If nothing else, the treatment eliminates any further complaining about the grievous injury just in case someone in hearing range might think dumping another dose of the whiskey over said injury is necessary. Nope, one burning antiseptic shot generally does it.

In fact, this cure works almost as well as that old Mercurochrome did which arguably had its benefits over Irish whiskey. Not only did that stuff burn like hell, it dyed your skin red, gave you the appearance of blood poisoning, swelling and the emergence of gangrene and, if you had me as a sister, the belief that you would imminently lose the injured limb due to the gangrene. As a bonus, you also got a strong dose of poisonous mercury. Not many kids raised their hand for a second dose of that stuff, especially the ones who thought they were hiding their limbs from the butcher knife. Nope, the injured party would suddenly turn into the Black Knight from Monty Python and the Holy Grail right after the Knight's arms were cut off by King Arthur and the Knight is informed that he has no arms left. His response, "Merely a flesh wound." Apparently, he knew there was Mercurochrome in the area.

But as usual, I digress. Back to our red-nosed pal. In addition to the teasing and exclusion he suffered, one also has to consider what happened to his parents. Although the song doesn't explicitly say so, it is well-known fact his last name was "Disney." This means, of course, that one of his parents was killed or kidnapped when red-nose was still young and impressionable. This is a fact of life and requirement for all Disney animals and it is most likely that this bulbous nosed deer had at least one, if not both parents shot by the same hunter that mowed down Bambi's mom. Yum, venison. Or kidnapped by the circus that took Dumbo's parents, killed by the guy who got Simba's dad or eaten by the shark that got Nemo's mom.

So, after all of this teasing and trauma, the guy comes through at the last moment to light the way without any resentment or hard feelings. Now, I would have expected him to tell all the other reindeer to go to Hades and back, a response this red-nosed Irish acne patient feels would have been most appropriate for the reindeer situation. But no, Rudy comes through the way all true Irishmen (well, with the exception of Charlie Weis...) do - winning spirit, forgiving nature, there in a time of crisis and leading a team.

So, all considered, the son's lyrics do seem to be an improvement over the original:

Rudolph the red-nose reindeer
Had a very shiny nose
And if you ever saw it,
You would even say it blows...

Yep, it blows all right.

Halloween Attire

Halloween was a good one at our house this year. It only required one costume change for the daughter which is approximately 5.5 fewer costume changes than a typical day. However, it must be pointed out that despite the frequent costume changes, the daughter is also quite thrifty. In fact, if she finds an outfit that screams to be worn three weeks straight, day and night, church, home and store to get the full investment value out of the purchase, then, by gosh, she will keep it on, apparently to help the family and country understand that you don't need a lot of stuff to be happy. Unless, of course, something better comes up and she changes her mind which takes place at roughly twice the speed of light.

So, accordingly, the Pumpkin Princess appeared right after Halloween when the princess garb was 90% off and I mistakenly thought it might be a cute dress up outfit. For a day. Or two. A week max, especially with the pumpkin headband that, from a distance, resembles an orange tick gorging himself on princess blood. Heck, had I known I was creating the Permanent Pumpkin Princess of Alpharetta, Georgia, I might have rethought the $2.49 purchase. A week and a half after her Permanent Pumpkin Princess coronation, which had occurred well before we hit the Target checkout line, I tried explaining that we had certainly gotten our full investment value out of the garment and she was going to freeze her butt and other parts off given the frigid weather if she insisted on continuing to wear the garment without any accommodations.

Some change in day wear was strongly being called for and was known not to violate her Pumpkin Princess oath which, as I informed her, I had carefully read on her behalf and would never let her violate. However, the princess clearly communicated in her very special and amazingly loud way that any outerwear or alterations in her garb would, in her opinion, not only invalidate her princess status but would also not be fair to her constituents and she just couldn't have that. Nope, not under any circumstances. Period and Amen. And, if she needed to demonstrate that she meant it by ripping off her tights and jacket to fulfill her duties, by gosh, she would. And did. In less than 30 seconds. All while strapped into her car seat. Have to admire the devotion to her cause. But I am sure hoping that the Houdini clothing skills disappear well before she is in her teens.

I Married a Clown

Really. Enough said.

He Put them in the Trunk?

So, this guy somewhere in America decided to lock his two children in the trunk of his car so that he could go shopping. Black Friday Specials from what I understand. When questioned by the authorities, he declared that "the kids liked to play in there." Now, I was shocked by this story, to say the least.

The glaringly obvious question - Who is this guy that apparently loves shopping? What gene did he get that the rest of the men on the planet do not share? Can this gene be shared?

Oh yeah, and the kids in the trunk thing. From the vantage point of the mother of a very opinionated and incredibly vocal three year old, I'm suprised I didn't think of that angle first. Just saying. Not like I would do it. My kids do not like to play in the trunk of the car.

The Great Biblical Tradition of David vs. Gloria

At dinner, the son let me know he was really excited about reading his bible tonight before bed because he was going to read his favorite story, that is, David vs. Gloria. Pretty sure I was playing hooky the day we went over that one at bible school. Sounds pretty Kramer vs. Kramer to me so I'm thinking this one should be interesting.

Odd that he would come up with that bit of confusion as I don't quite recall reading the story to him that way before he could make out the words on the page. It wouldn't have saved any time or otherwise amused me. Well, probably not a lot. And, if that did happen by some cosmic error, it certainly wasn't because someone interpreted the bible to me that way. Then again, my parents were the responsible type. I, on the other hand, have a plaster pope as my strongman. But, it works by gosh. I'm thinking of seeing if Buca de Bepo restaurant will sell him to me. Stealing him just seems wrong on so many levels.

"No Pope, No Pope"

So, my folks took my entire family to Buca de Beppo for dinner to celebrate my birthday which God also celebrated by sending 15.5 inches of rain to Atlanta in 24 hours. On our way to the restaurant, in addition to discussing which of us knew how big a cubit was should we need to start building, we also wondered aloud if there would be a lot of other waterlogged diners in the restaurant and, if so, how long would the wait be given the birthday Queen, otherwise known as the stellar mother of two outstanding children, is not know to be a terribly patient person when hungry. Or fully fed, take your pick. But, in fact, due to the rain gods, there were no other diners. Nada, Nessun, Keine. Now, I must assume that this was the result of most road transportation that day being via barge and not due to any advance warnings being posted that our party, to include the son and daughter,would not only be in the area but also in the building. However, I did not personally observe the traffic management signs on the freeway that day so who knows. Word could have gotten out.

So, we had the entire wait, cook, bar and valet staff at our disposal. And, we got a great table with great food. But one of us refused to cooperate as it is against some personal policy of hers to actually sit in a chair and/or booth to eat. Ever. Apparently, she subscribes to the belief that one must actually jump up to get food to go down versus just swallowing it. So, she was enthusiastically launching herself in the air repeatedly and rebounding off the booth while working on a spaghetti noodle. Despite my whispered threats of the dreaded "time out" she carried on. And on, and on and on. So, with my normal copious limit of patience worn out, I made the executive decision that it was time for time-out and since it was my birthday, and I still had food to eat, it wasn't appropriate for me to just disappear and take my time-out with a good book. Nope, had to take the human spring with me and in good parental fashion put her in a chair, explain the situation and what she needed to correct and so on. Yep, time out by the book. And that is what I started to do when opportunity presented itself and when opportunity knocks, by gosh, I answer.

Like a miracle, the Pope intervened. We had walked into his special room at Buca where they keep the Pope's head and torso in a box on a lazy Susan at a table designed to sit King Arthur's court. Have to love it. Now, my understanding is that it isn't the actual head and torso of the last great Pope as the chain obviously had a bit of drama with Rome trying to get the real one and went the easier route with a fake but it is a reasonably good facsimile in dim lighting, after drinking or if you are almost three and you haven't seen the real deal.

So, I pointed him out to Mia and told him that he was God's right hand man. And, if one had some behavioral issues, he could and would smite them if they didn't settle down. Now, I know this might not be theologically correct and I might have some explaining to do to the big guy upstairs but, what the heck, it is still quite effective, especially if one shakes the table back and forth to get the Pope to move a bit. Yep, looks pretty good. So, I explained to the daughter that she might want to apologize to the guy for jumping in his house and promise not to do it again given his smiting powers and all. But, the daughter isn't actually open to suggestions for improvement during those hours she is fully awake and/or half awake and continued to let me know how she disagreed with my proposition.

And then the miracle occurred. I could hear the harps and bells as the daughter stopped objecting and began looking at the Pope with what was clearly a sign of reverence. She gazed at the Pope with a look that I could best describe as awe tinged with slight wariness. I was congratulating myself on a job well done and a game well played when it happened and, no doubt about it, it was a sight to behold. The daughter slowly leaned down, lifted the tablecloth and looked under the table. Twice. Slowly. As she lifted her little face up to me for an explanation, I explained his legs were apparently in the next room but since he was Pope, he didn't really need them anyway given his ownership of the only Popemobile in the world. But, as she is only familiar with Barbiemobiles, she apparently didn't quite get the Popemobile reference. The disciplinary miracle continued as she quickly demonstrated to me that she no longer felt the need to jump and, in fact, wanted to return to the party with all due haste and did not, under any circumstances, want to invite the Pope along.

We returned from wence we came and continued our celebration. And, it was clearly a lesson learned as was demonstrated when I gave her a quizzical look when she was considering jumping to celebrate cake eating. She looked right back at me and then was quite clear and unambiguous in her declaration, "No Pope, no Pope, no Pope."

And, this good parenting lesson stuck. The next day, she told Cody, the mentally challenged cat, that he would "go to Pope, go to Pope" if he didn't get off the counter. He didn't. However, from what I can tell, he isn't Catholic and just didn't care.