"I see you have constructed a new light saber. Your skills are complete." - Darth Vader, Return of the Jedi

 

Can you fit an electric Arctic Cat® PowerWheels™ into the back of a family sedan? Only if you take the car for dinner and dancing first.

Christmas has come and gone again, but that’s because we have time. Time is the thing that makes sure that everything doesn’t happen all at once, and also the thing that makes sure that your beer goes flat if you don’t drink it within some reasonable time period. The best definition I ever read of time is the “measure of increase in entropy of a system”, which, if applied to the wrapping paper on a Christmas present is quite a measure. Entropy, of course, is the measure of increase of disorder of a system, i.e., a group of tiny cats, when you shake them up in a bag and then pour them on the floor will go every which way. From a true physics standpoint this isn’t good experimental design, but it’s just fun to grab a bag of small cats, shake them, and then drop them on the floor. The sight of small cats running in terror from the gigantic beast that encased them in burlap and then vigorously shook them puts me, for one, into the holiday spirit.

If The Boy and Pugsley had their way, it would be Christmas everyday. Of course it would. They’re eight and three, and don’t realize that it’s far more fun to go to work and slave away for hours at a time. Don’t worry, Internet, they’ll eventually get there.

Our family is a “Christmas Eve” present opening family. It tends to lead toward a more relaxed Christmas Day, not to mention that the little dears get so excited about the presents that they got the day before that they don’t get up at 3:42AM to see what Santa brought. If you’ve had any wine at all, you can see what sense this makes.

I don’t know about your house, but Santa definitely leaves very little at ours, the cheap elf that he is. Most (if not all) of the really good presents come from Mom, Dad, and the Grandparents. Santa might bring a few doo-dads; an orange, perhaps a toothbrush, but nothing really, really fun. Santa (at least at our house) seems somewhat overly obsessed with hygiene.

Anyhow, Christmas Eve brought a celebration of the Geek. Each boy (including yours truly) received a brand spanking new Light Saber® (these are the really cool ones with the polycarbonate blades that make the appropriate sounds when we turn them on and smack them together), with which we battle continuously, if somewhat inconclusively. I was unsure that a three year old would be a good owner of a Light Saber©. So was The Mrs. It turns out Pugsley is as giddy as a kitten with poo to cover to have one.

The Boy was likewise happy with his presents. “You didn’t get me crap like you usually do.”

He stammered a bit, even at eight realizing that this was a slightly impolitic statement to make. “Umm, I mean I really like that stuff you got me last year, but I just don’t know where it is.”

Eight is a big year for Legos® and he has a bundle of them. Already he’s made several improbable-looking Jedi© moving contraptions that he loves. Like Pugsley, The Boy will at a moment’s notice, attack me with his Light Saber™. Thankfully, I spend most of my time working on my relationship with the Dark Side® of The Force©.

Pugsley? He just rides on his bouncy horse when he’s bored. (Let me tell you, putting that thing together was an exercise in the near-grotesque-the horse came headless, and no small number of Godfather™ jokes were made in putting it together.)

The Mrs.? Oh, she told me exactly what she wanted. Through a small bit of luck, even though what she wanted was definitely a special order item, it just happened to be available.

So, a merry Christmas was had by all.

Now if I only had a bag of small cats to shake . . . .