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It’s only January, so winter’s teeth are still long and not worn down. Yesterday was one of those days when winter’s mouth was closed, so a few of us ventured out. It was a beautiful mild day with occasional gusty winds. The sky was a brilliant, amazing blue and the clouds were showing off every shape and color in their playbook.
Beautiful winter days should be seized and banked for the coming days when it feels like it will never, ever go away. Like last year, when we got snow into May and every flake that fell from the sky felt personal. We made a big deposit.
Someone’s Christmas was in the soggy, snowmelt gutter:
 I almost picked it up, but didn't. We made our way down to the lake:
 Our neighborhood lake is partially frozen. Teddy claimed he saw carrots in the lake. Ice has frozen around tufts of dead plants growing in the lake.
This guy adores walks. He talks the whole time, until he falls asleep.
 Ollie wore everyone's favorite sweater. Beatrix ran ahead and got pretty muddy, but that’s what washing machines are for.
 Tired, but happy The lake looked like it froze in waves.
 The Flatirons in the distance Partially frozen, the textures reflected the sky gorgeously.
 No filter needed
I’ve only seen two episodes of Doctor Who: “Blink”—which scared the wee out of me. The second was the one with the baby who fancied himself some kind malevolent ruler of the universe. I watched because I was pregnant with Ollie and we needed a baby name. I crossed Stormeggedon, Dark Lord of All off our list. His real name was Alfie, sweet chap.
With my shallow understanding of all things Doctor and Who, it’s a marvel I have all these kids who are crazed fans. While they watch, I retire upstairs with a book or something. I totally support it, however. I’ve made a Tardis birthday cake, bought toy daleks, numerous pithy t-shirts, and survived debates over The Best Doctor. Aidan made a penguin, which she dressed in a fez and bowtie. Of course.
Recently, someone yarn-bombed an old British phone booth that sits in front of a theater in Olde Town Arvada, a suburb of Denver. We heard about it from a Whovian friend. I took four of the kids to see it yesterday, relieved it was still there. I took them for two reasons. I knew they’d adore it and I wanted them to see a real-life example of yarn-bombing, which is a thing these days. I regret not taking them to see the yarn Colorado flag underpants on a huge naked statue in downtown Denver, so I wasn’t going to let the opportunity pass.
 Tommy, Sam, Tardis, Beatrix, Joel  Sam, using his imagination I examined the panels. Obviously, the work of many knitting geeks putting their heads together to make something cool for the masses.
 Public Call Box has never been more snuggly adorable  Full-length glamour shot  Squares  More squares  More squares, and a tiny hole
One of the benefits of our annual sibling Christmas gift exchange is the kids learn how to wrap presents. The rest of the year, we shove gifts into colorful bags with tufts of tissue paper jutting from the top. It takes no special skill to do this. If you can load a grocery sack with rocks and newspaper, you can deliver a My Little Pony to a Chuck E. Cheese in style. Wrapping packages in paper is a dying art. Producing a crisp triangular corner is one of life’s smug pleasures. Forget that someone will rip your Sistene-Chapelian masterwork to shreds in the near future. It’s a lovely thing to be able to do with skillful confidence.
All nine of the kids choose presents for their designated sibling. They draw names out of a bowl around December 1st. Of course, the little ones received help from me in the form of choosing, buying, and wrapping. Ollie did not search multiple online retailers for Aidan’s gift, nor did he receive it from the UPS driver. He was sleeping when I wrapped it. Everyone else was expected to actively participate—even three-year-old Teddy, who drew Beatrix’s name. One by one, I call each kid into my room where I have a wrapping factory set up. They choose the paper and tags and need different levels of help.
Teddy was the last to wrap. He was so excited it was finally his turn, but he had no idea what to expect. I had him choose a paper, which I cut to size. He watched as I showed him how I folded the paper up and over the top of Beatrix’s present. Then, I tore off a two-inch long piece of tape and handed it to him. “Put the tape here…”
I pointed to a spot where paper met present, thinking he’d lay the piece down. It would be crooked, but hey. He’s three.
Instead, he wadded it up and hurled it at the present. Then, he jumped off the bed and ran out of the room, down the stairs, down another flight of stairs to the basement. You’d think I suggested he curl ribbon next.
A vision of the future unfolded: Teddy, age 45, standing in line at a mall with a Le Creuset Marseille blue French oven for his elderly mother (wow, I waited a LONG time). “I’d like the free gift wrap,” he says with a smile.
“The free gift wrap requires a donation to our charity, People Against Paper Cuts.”
“Sold!”
Some people aren’t born to wrap. But I’ll try again next year. I hope the safety goggles won’t give me a headache.
 the 2013 rundown
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