Duck

Madeleine's no dummy and she ducks (ar ar) when I ask her if she wants to join me to pick up the Christmas bird. Like last year and the year before, the line stretches down the block and it takes >2 hours before we get into the butchers. We are rewarded happily with an 11 pounder (on reserve) plus all sorts of gore like bacon, sausage and mince meat. Eitan and I eye the saw and various knives assembled on the cutting board, which has soaked up blood. The British do know their meats. Standing in line I say hello to the neighborhood as we are all in the same place. Eitan amuses himself with some sprints then gets board then practices some maths then gets bored again then reads the sports pages and bored and so it goes. Now I blog when I should be exercising or something. Or focused on the kiddos so I will jump off. Merry Christmas!

Me to Madeleine: "Do you think Santa is fat?"
Madeleine: "Dad! Don't even say such a thing! Of course he's not!"
Me: "Ok but he is definitely chubby."
Madeleine: "Stop it! He'll hear you!"
Eitan: "Well, maybe not fat but jolly. He is definitely jolly."

Me: "And those elves are pretty skinny. Do you think they eat much?"
Madeleine gives me the evil eye.
Eitan: "They are not skinny. They are just small. They're just elves, Dad."
Madeleine: "Maybe we can leave them some food with Santa."