Never a dull moment to remember

Ken here ... Happy Advent!

Word on the street is that Mom sent an abridged version of her Christmas letter this year. In the spirit of documenting this business of life,I figured it a good idea to snag the rest of her letter and plop it in the middle of the blog-o-sphere for your pre-holiday enjoyment.

Consume as you'd like, but be warned: Much of what follows is Mom's attempt to reflect on a few favorite moments of 2013, as well as the evolution of my (and Sam and Georgia's) character. She does this with full knowledge that it can sometimes result in a tone of 'hey, look at my family and how great we all are.' Trust that there is a healthy dose of humility and imperfection woven throughout the events of this year; Mom just didn't write about that stuff this time. Enjoy, my loyal readers, and happy holidays.

Ken

Ken: Age 4

...Fall 2013 marked the beginning of school for one Kenneth Conrad, Jr. Having looked forward to this milestone for a solid 12 months, Ken holds his own in the river of early childhood education. He is most comfortable when there are rules to be followed. He chooses his friends because they "are nice, and they are funny," and he'll be the first to tell you that he's tired and needs to go to bed. His best friend is a pre-K gal named Sophia (she makes the prayer list every night), and his favorite school stories typically involve an art project, a song with spanish words sprinkled into it, or time with friends on the playground. Any remaining wonder of mine regarding his ability to stand on his own two feet was completely assuaged when, while performing at his recent preschool holiday music concert, he not-so-eloquently shouted to the boy in front of him: 'Please MOVE! I can't see my DAD!'

Georgia: Age 1

Georgia turned one in June. Have you ever seen what happens to those tiny dogs that befriend the big dogs? Right. Georgia runs with the big dogs: jumping, climbing, zooming cars. Her shriek is likened to that of the tornado siren, and her eyes match the clear blue sparkle of her Grandpa Ken's eyes. While she insists on growing up as fast as her brothers, I contend that she still carries the scent of a baby -- my baby -- and the glimpses that we do get of her actual age match that of the typical toddler. She has recently figured out that my name is not Dad, and her vocabulary abounds with about six words: Mom, Dad, hi, Jesus, bacon and good. I'd say she's got her priorities straight.

Spring 2013 introduced Sam to his first biking experience. It's a bike with no pedals (that's intentional), and

Sam: Age 3

on the evening of his first balancing adventure, his toes barely graced the pavement thanks to the clumsy thickness of his up-and-up diaper. Having since graduated to the studly-ness of Thomas the Train underpants, his biking excursions have proven to be more comfortable and completely aligned with Sam's innocent determination and love of the outdoors. He carries his three-year-old self with a cheerfulness unmatched throughout the household: singing, drawing, dancing, humming and talking -- all in a rhythm that is only his own. He delights in the little things: a song on the radio, a new book, a candy bar. He offers his own blanket when Georgia can't find hers, invents stories of himself in Kindergarten (just to make sure Ken doesn't get all the glory), and last week, upon turning on the Christmas music for the first time, giddily announced,"That man on the radio said that Santa is coming tonight! Tonight!"

This year, Adam and I celebrated our five year wedding anniversary (and our birthdays and our Christmas) with a trip to the Great American Beer Fest in Denver Colorado. Like two kids in our respective candy stores, we hung out together -- mingling with more than 1300 

Mom & Dad: 2013

professional brewers (Adam's candy store) and meeting the people, restaurants and scenery of a whole new city (my candy store). Did you know that, in Denver, the sun shines about 300 days of the year? I love my husband, and I'd return to vacation in a heartbeat.

The finer points of imagination continue to be discovered around the Corrigan Conrad abode, and with that comes the ability to believe in all sorts of possibilities. One rainy fall day, Sam and Ken each found his cuddle blanket and a clothespin -- declaring himself princess for the day. Not to be outdone, Georgia snagged her favorite blanket and a magnet, and reached to Dad for help. Not only did Dad find sufficient blanket fasteners for his three budding blue-bloods, he also fashioned three paper crowns (pictured). Upon speedy assessment of the trio's wardrobe completion, Sam formally declared Georgia to be king.

Royalty: 2013

And so it goes. My husband, king and two princesses continue to teach me much about what it means to be curious, intentional and unabashed. I can only hope that my approach to life contains more of these traits -- thanks to the loyal presence of my Adam, Georgia, Ken and Sam.

Cheers to an eventful 2013. Peace to you, and Merry Christmas!
Molly

Wouldn't hurt a fly me to the moon

Georgia

 It's the time of year for scarves. And hats. And mittens. And boots. Wooly coats. Long underwear if you got 'em. Why do we live in this crazy state, again? It's also time for fun stuff -- like Advent candles at the supper table, Christmas tree lights and annual holiday picture and letter exchanges. Keep 'em coming, friends! As the resident four-year-old, it's my job to monitor the mailbox this month for tidings of great joy. (And, watch for ours in the coming week or so. We promise to hit the snail mail prior to Christmas this year.)

It's usual times around the Corrigan Conrad abode. I'm hittin' the preschool scene about three times per week, Sam's making up stories of himself in Kindergarten, and Georgia is declaring her dirty diapers as they happen. Mom and Dad are hoping for no-kids-in-diapers about six months ahead of schedule. We'll see how that pans out.

In other news, our local parish is puttin' on the ritz again this year -- with a living Nativity scene next weekend. Today, Mom grabbed a flier, sorted out the calendar, and signed the three of us up to be angels. Pretty sure Georgia will pull this off without a hitch. Sam and I ... well, it's gonna be cold. Good thing we're able to sport the all-winter gear mentioned in the opening paragraph. As long as the sun gods declare it warm enough to be outside, you can count on a few Conrad angels shootin' the breeze with a small baby, a Mary, a Joseph, a few shepherds and some real, live animals. Game on.

Today, we returned from our sometimes-weekly excursion to Jesus' house, Living Nativity flier in hand, 

Sam, Ken: Our flier

when Sam announced, "Mom, why is that flier not flying?" An excellent question, good sir! If named a flier, one's primary job is to fly, is it not? You should SEE the way this flier flies! Mom applied her elementary knowledge of paper fliers; Dad completed the design with his fantastic knowledge of random things. And, zoom! This flier is the newest occupier of our play time, our conversations, and our reasons for running the length of the house. Sub-zero temperatures outside -- no matter! We have a flier. And a good one, at that.

Hope this note find you smiling, with enough imagination to see the extra in your ordinary, and set your pre-Christmas spirit a flight.

Until next time,
Ken

A golden set of pipe dreams

Georgia: Age 1

Thanksgiving weekend, and this year I'm obliged to tip my hat in thanks for my siblings.

A word,specifically, about Sam:

Sam's got himself a set of pipes. I mean it. He sings all the time. For a while, I thought this was the norm for any kid-brother. Sam's littler than me, so I figured he just had to learn things by singing. You know -- the alphabet, prayers at meals and night, numbers up to twelve. But, upon recently hanging with plenty of younger cousins, I'm realizing that this propensity to sing belongs uniquely to Sam. He sings at the breakfast table. He sings in the bathroom. He sings in the car, the grocery store, the library. He even sings in his sleep. Serious.

Other people notice it, too. A long-long day ago, we went to the Target store -- just me, Sam, Georgia and Dad. And my favorite red-and-khaki-lady-with-the-walkie-talkie approached our cart, looked at Sam and said, "Well, hello! You're not singing today. What seems to be the trouble?" Of course, Sam just smiled sweetly -- having no idea how to tell our favorite Target team member that a stuffy nose makes for some clogged up pipes.

Sam: Age 3

I'm pretty proud of my brother, actually. I mean, flip on the radio, and Sam finds the beat. Start humming "Twinkle, twinkle," and Sam will politely bring you on-pitch -- just by singing along. He marches to the beat of his own drum, that's for sure -- a drum whose shell happens to be beautifully carved, stretched and toned to the rhythm of its owner.

Ken (L) Sam (R)

Yesternight, Sam was finishing his suppertime glass of [insert beverage choice here]. As luck would have it, he attempted to finish the drink too quickly, and half-choked/sputtered the liquid across the table. "Sam, Sam," I said, "did it go down the wrong pipe?" Sam looked at me, sweet, serious, and puzzled. "Ken. I don't have pipes in my mouth."

Yes you do, kid. Yes you do.

Hope your Thanksgiving found you feeling as thankful for your siblings -- be they the family or friend variety -- as I am. Until next time,
Ken