Papa and Nana's Pre-Christmas Extravaganza, Pt. III

So today was the last day we'd be seeing Dad and Cindy on their pre-Christmas, extended weekend visit.  As I mentioned before, they were good enough to take the girls overnight for one last sleepover at their resort, so Kris and I got to sleep in past 6:30am (which, as you can imagine, rarely happens.)

It had been agreed upon earlier that today would be the day that we would celebrate our Christmas with Dad and Cindy, since they'd be in town and everything, so when they brought the girls back by the house later this morning, we broke out the mamosas and exchanged some presents.

Check it out. . .

The 2014 Hough Family Christmas Tree

. . . aaaand the miniature one the girls keep in their playroom with all the Second-Tier ornaments.

'Tis the season.

Some new personalized water bottles for the girls, courtesy of one of Nana's coworkers (who's also done purses and more for the girls in the past.)

Christmas-y photo-op in front of the tree (as you can tell from the headlock, Watson wasn't cool with this.)

Sans dog.

Watson has a bizarre fascination with my dad.  This dog doesn't know the meaning of personal space.

More of the same from the Hough girls. . .

Freeing toys from their packaging these days is like trying to break a prisoner out of a high-security penitentiary. . .

The Cannonball tries out her new Goldiblox (engineering alternative to Barbie) figure.  Took her a bit to warm up to it, but she likes it now.

Pink, sparkly, princess unicorns?  Yeah, that's a no-brainer.

Kicking off another holiday mamosa morning.

Abby smelling one of Watson's new Nyla-bones ('cause everyone loves bacon.)

Dad and I ended up getting each other the exact, same record brush this year.

See the tiger in the background?  Remember Jim Henson's '80's made-for-TV movie, A Christmas Toy?  Damn straight, you do.

The only people in the house that appreciate a mamosa Christmas.

Tug of war with Watson

Trying out some of her new toys from Papa and Nana

(Truth be told, I don't think anyone was actually watching this.)

The main gift from Dad and Cindy this year was a karaoke machine for the girls.  Seeing how much these kids love performing and playing with microphones, it was an obvious homerun.

The CD-Gs that Dad and Cindy bought along with the machine (and an extra microphone) are displayed via the TV, and I ran the audio-out into our living room sound system. . . so that when the girls butcher their favorite Disney songs, we'll be able to listen to their warbling in surround sound.

Time for a Frozen duet. . .

Something tells me I'm never playing video games in the living room again. . .

Happy Pre-Christmas, Cyberspace.

- Brian

Kick Out the (Yuletide) Jams, Motherf***ers!

Christmas concert time again. . .

Hey gang,

As you are all well aware of, no holiday season is complete without the mandatory children's pageant and/or choral concert.  Not ones to be left behind in said undertaking, Kris and I once again had our offspring participate in Kris' church's (Peace United Methodist of Hunter's Creek) annual Christmas concert-thingy.  The girls love getting up on a stage and singing, but we definitely reinforced it, as it is one of those Christmas things you're obligated to make your kids do.

Am I right, America?  Damn straight I am.

The concert kicked off at 6pm, and I left straight from work to meet Kris and the girls at the church.  While Kris got the kids ready - fixing hair and outfits, etc. - I was able to wrap up some schoolwork on my laptop, sitting in my car in the parking lot.  When it finally was time for the show to start, we snagged some front row seats and settled in for what I could only assume (with no small degree of disdain, of course) would be an hour-long affair, much like last year.

You can imagine, then, my joy when our girls finished their performance and we found ourselves leaving the church a whopping fifteen minutes after the show started.  Unfortunately, the video we took tonight, being HD and all, is way too large to upload here, but here's some stills from the evening's performance (which the girls rocked the bejesus out of, by the way):

Enjoy:

Healthy snacks before the show starts. . .

The stage. 

Kris springs into action (she forgot the Santa Hats)

The chick in the red skirt is the choir director.  I don't remember her name.

The Little Rocks

This song featured a countdown, just in case you were wondering what the hell was up with the numbers. 

Abby freestyled a lot with the hand gestures throughout the show.

Donkey songs.

Abby's diva-ness started taking over about half-way through the concert, and the audience was cracking up as she shook her hips and struck dramatic poses throughout the last few songs. 

Exiting the stage, their eight minutes in the spotlight finished.

Stay tuned for more holiday weirdness, folks.

- Brian

Thanksgiving, African American Friday, and the Rise of Yule

Happy Post-Thanksgiving, everybody!

Voigts and Houghs.

Houghs don't take too much of a shinin' to Thanks-giving.  Perhaps you were aware of this.  Blame it on the Curse, blame it on what you will, but we don't prefer to acknowledge it all that much.  I'm sure it has a lot to do with the fact that we have zero family down here, and Thanksgiving is sorta centered around 'family.'  

Whatever.

This year, like we've done many times before, we had Thanks-giving over at the Voigt's house.  This was the first time we had done this in awhile, as last year Abby had a fever and the year before Alayna projectile vomited all over the van and the Voigts' couch.  

Good times.

Turkey head.

A Lions win?!  I'll take it. . .

No such drama this time around, though.  We ate early (around lunch time), watched the Lions miraculously seize victory (a rare occurrence, indeed), and were back at our own house by late afternoon. . .

Deeply focused on Brave.

. . . not this one.

Old people selfie.

Taking Watson out for a constitutional around the neighborhood. . .

It's been in the mid-60s this week. . . a lot chillier than we're accustomed to down here.  Though I guess I probably shouldn't complain about our weather down here. . . am I right, Midwest?

The girls take Watson down the sidewalk, while a G.I. Joe vehicle tears ass down our street. . .

Letting the dog burn off some steam (the thirty or forty feet I ended up running was the longest distance I've ran in probably seven years. . . is that about normal for folks?) 

Taking a breather.  Houghs, believe it or not, are not known for their athleticism,.

Quit starin' at my cheese stick, bro.

Only a matter of time before Watson nabs himself a cheese stick.

Thanksgiving, right?  Yeah, sure.

Tomorrow's African American Friday, but I can't write about that without wanting to tear my own face off.  I'm not sure if I can be friends with anyone who still actively participates in this crap.

Having said that, now that the last obstacle has been cleared from its bloated, shiny path of commercialism and destruction, there is nothing standing in the way of the juggernaut that is CHRISTMAS (*you need to scream this in your head while reading it*)  Our holiday shopping is basically done, our tree and decorations are up, are iPods are stocked with Yuletide jammage, the bar is fully stocked, and everyone in the house owns a Santa Hat. . .

Come at me, Christmas!!

- Brian