Ever so slowly I emerge from "some assembly required" hell.

Actually, this has been a fine Christmas. Joe-hio got paroled from the hospital yesterday and was able to join us last night for some shrimp-in-spaghetti, some pan-seared salmon, and some broiled scrod and crab. (Though he demurred when I offered to administer Frylock's prescription for lung-restoration: smearing the hot spaghetti upon his bare chest to allow the garlic vapors to work their magic -- suit yourself, Joe.)

Da Chimpz opened a few gifts last night. The slot car racetrack is a big hit. There were about two million pieces in the box. Maybe three million. It's probably the coolest slot car set-up I've ever seen. Aunt Kay and Uncle Guido rock. The boys opened the balance of their swag this morning as Alane and I narrated who sent what. Then we dressed for the early Mass where Cookie belted out a sprited rendition of the recessional hymn "Joy to the World" -- loud enough that a woman who had been sitting in the back came up to us afterward to thank him for the performance (he learned it in school and was happy to see it on the docket). Then we came back to Berea-Rose for more coffee, some panettone, a few shots of vermouth, and R/C truck assembly (thank you, Grandpa Vito). Every once in a while I grab the 1001 Horrible Facts book and read the boys a little sumthin gross -- they dig on the disgusting stuff.

Oh, by the way: plastic clamshell packaging comes from the Devil. But I suspect you already knew that.

In a few minutes we'll pack the boys up and take them to their grandparents' place for more Christmas merriment. I understand she has a pork roast in the oven that weighs about as much as Mojo -- so we got a lot of eating to do today.

We better get cracking.