Fight! Fight! Fight! Fight!

A few weeks ago Jefferson said something nasty about my wife and I responded by saying something rude about his mom. "Sir, I challenge you to a snowball fight. Do you accept my challenge?" It was on.









First he needed to taste the snow. Hmm.












Yep. Seems to be the proper consistency for a ripping good snowball fight.












We referred to Rule 13 of Code Duello:
No dumb shooting or firing in the air is admissible in any case. The challenger ought not to have challenged without receiving offense; and the challenged ought, if he gave offense, to have made an apology before he came on the ground; therefore, children's play must be dishonorable on one side or the other, and is accordingly prohibited.










Rule 22 says:
Any wound sufficient to agitate the nerves and necessarily make the hand shake, must end the business for that day.










So we went back in, ate cookies, and resolved to never let a woman come between us again.

Christmas!!

Ah, Christmas Eve. Santa has used misdirection, leaving the okay presents in the front and the DS hidden under the tree skirt. We got the idea from the Old Man (note the TV).












Check it out. The little detective found the "evidence." Kids are dumb.









In a Christmas tradition that some find a little strange, Jefferson does his annual Mick Jagger impersonation.












Something about this felt like the moment at which the present and the future met.

Pizza Dough (non-Mario, literal edition)!!

Sometimes we make pizza. It always makes me think of the Seinfeld in which Kramer brings a bag of bagels to Jerry and says: "It felt so good to get my hands back in the dough." Horrified, Jerry says: "Your hands were in the dough ..?"












He doesn't use as much profanity as I do when his dough tears. He projects calm.












Calm. Calm with a touch of insanity.












The finished product was sort of amazing looking.









I'm the last one to toot a horn, but mine looked pretty decent too.