Cicles

The neighborhood we moved from was busy. We only knew the names of a few of our neighbors and we did not exchange any kind of Christmas gifts with them. This Utah business is quite different. We live on a street with eight other homes. So far, we've gotten gifts from two of them (a container of hot cocoa from one and a Christmas ornament from the other) and had conversation with four. I thought it would probably be a good idea to get gifts, so I don't look like the resident Scrooge of the cul-de-sac. However, money does not abound in chez de Doozleberry. So I did this...

Christmas tins filled with Hershey kisses, peppermints and Crunch bells. I purchased the tins at Hobby Lobby for approximately 75 cents (they stand about 6 inches tall). Each container is filled with about a dollar's worth of candy. Cheap. Easy. Hopefully acceptable.

In snow news, I bundled the boy up again and we ventured into the frozen abyss of the backyard. Growing out of our eaves is a giant icicle, much too high for me to reach. However, this prompted me to pick up my plump little snow cherub and clomp into the front yard. All the icicles were still too high for me to reach so I chucked a stick at one. Down it fell into the powdery flakes. Now, in my family, the story of me and the "cicles" was told almost as often as the story of me reading a book to my aunt and uncle whilst they took a bath together on a ski trip. They were newlyweds. I was two. Or maybe three. It's not like I knew that bath time could be used for something other than getting clean. Nevertheless the story gets told over and over and over. But anyway, this is not about reading to my naked family members. Which, by the way, I don't remember happening so it must not have. It's a story about the "cicles." Apparently, whenever we went to the snow, I was obsessed with eating icicles. I guess I made my dad bring me repeated frozen water daggers for my happy consumption. And I think what made the story somewhat humorous was the way that I would almost moan the word as I asked for a "cicle, daddy?" I don't recall being young enough to refer to them as cicles, but I do remember loving icicles well into my elementary school years. Garrett doesn't know what a cicle is. Or, at least, he didn't. Until today, that is. But, if we're gonna have to live in what might just be a tundra, we might as well make the best of it. We might as well have snowball fights. We might as well make snow angels. We might as well eat cicles.

Here we have the boy sitting in front of his snow cave (still out there, Dad) sucking on his delicious icicle. (Mom, I had to take his good gloves off for the picture because he couldn't hold it) Oh man did he like it. He liked it so much that when I asked for a lick he turned away possessively. Of course, when the dog started eating it from the other end, Garrett was more than willing to share with him.

On the Christmas front, we have Christmas lights up, they just don't turn on. Our outlets outside aren't working. Today, a maintenance man was over for an hour and couldn't figure out why. He has to come back tomorrow. In the meantime, I have to unorganize our entire garage looking for the one switch that just might fix it. If you know me you know that unorganizing things just isn't my idea of fun. Joy to the world. And tralalalala.