Christmas was good. My son woke up at 4:30 crying to be fed or maybe he dreamed he was getting blocks instead of a go-kart, a remote-controlled helicopter, a catcher's glove, a Dino Cicarelli jersey and a car stereo. Whatever his reasons, his wimpering triggered his sister to awaken and it was on. Somehow we cajoled Zooey into waiting another hour before unbaring Santa's offerings, but we did and all turned out well. Except I bought Zooey a kitchen set that's identical to the one she loves so much at school and, well, she pretty much ignored it. No problem...it's a kitchen. But for $300 bucks I was hoping for at least a wink of approval. Katrina says it's an investment for the future: once Zooey is done with it, Oliver can play with it. Maybe. Maybe after he breaks his legs trying to jump over the house on his bike he can pretend to bake a cake that grows into a gargoyle that only eats idiots and craps them out on the planet Zoltron. That's my boy.

As you can see, these visuals have nothing to do with anything. I think I'm done with monkeys and donkeys or at least in this style.