Happy Birthday, MoMa

The Final Christmas of 2007

As it is with so many of life’s memorable experiences, there were good things and bad things about Christmas in Iowa with Moonshot’s family this year. On the plus side I’ll stack family togetherness and almost a foot of pristine snow that sparked a child-like twinkle in this gren’s eye. On the down side I’ll mention the countless hours of late night screaming our Little Lutine inflicted upon us. It seems routine has become quite important to the little miss and sleeping in her Pack-N-Play in a strange room was not on her list of acceptable alternatives to her own bed. The only thing that made her stop crying was to pick hr up and let her play. We were, inexplicably, unable to muster much enthusiasm for playtime at 3 in the morning.

But that’s enough about the down side. I’ll distract myself from the horrible memories by mentioning that I got one last present for the season. The bike previously mentioned was a combined gift from Moonshot’s family and had already been received, so Moonshot saved one of her presents for me so I’d have something to rip open in Iowa. A Star Wars Pop-Up book finished off my holiday season just right. It may well be the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. The light sabers actually light up for god’s sake. I would keep singing it’s praises…but the New York Times did it much better than I could.

Norah received (among other things) a dump truck of her very own. And while she would, on occasion, fill the loader with her toys…she would typically just use the dumped loader to form a bucket seat for her oversized self.

It took some convincing to get everyone out in the snow. It seems not everyone shares my love of snowy fun. But, eventually they were convinced. Warm clothing was borrowed from Husker since I had failed to look at the weather before heading north. Had I known there would be so much snow I would have packed all my Colorado snow gear that sits unloved in my basement. Regardless, though…we trekked out to make a snowman.

Sadly, the powdery snow refused to stick. There would be no snowman. We amused ourselves for a little while with snowballs until I was distracted by the huge snow pile created by the plow. It was probably eight feet tall and at least 20 feet wide…a full sized adventure land of frozen joy. For a while it was fun to climb up and slide down or throw myself off the top in a white, powdery explosion. But eventually I found myself raiding Husker’s garage for digging tools. Moonshot and Mouse ignored my engineering efforts and contented themselves by making a miniature snow fried from the compacted snow I was removing from the bottom of the pile. FreddyJ pretty much just stood there and laughed at me in a good-natured way. My goal was to burrow all the way through the pile…but after I realized that Moonshot and FreddyJ had gone inside and that Husker and Mouse were pretty much just waiting around to keep an eye on things in case the snow should collapse on me, I called the job complete after I connected the main entrance to the exit that was originally designed as a cave-in escape tunnel. It was much shorter than I had envisioned…but by god, it was a tunnel.

And I was proud.

(Clicking any picture reveals its true Christmasy goodness)

All Pictures by Husker

Christmas at the Lake

Christmas has come and gone, zipping past in a blur that seems to get faster each year. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the idea that it already happened, but over all, Christmas this year was a wonderful time.

Last year was Norah’s first Christmas. She was 5 months old and understood nothing of what was going on. This year, we made it just about halfway to the enthusiasm that I’m so looking forward to as a parent. She recognizes Santa and points to him with vigor. She knows reindeer and can pick Rudolph out of a group. She is excited by images of snowmen and understands that they have carrot noses. And she knows just what to do with a wrapped present. All that’s missing is the ability to understand stories and anticipate events and we’ll have entered that all too short period of time in which Christmas is truly magical.

I can’t wait.

We opted to travel to the Lake to spend one last Christmas at MoMa’s with Jet and his girlfriend, M. In anticipation of Norah’s better understanding of the season next year, we have made it clear that Christmas Eve will from hence forth find Little Lutine snug in her own bed. Grandparents and aunts and uncles are welcome…but Christmas is now being past down to the next generation and we all get to work around her holiday


I would be lying if I said this holiday was relaxing. Enjoyable? Absolutely. But see…MoMa has a cozy little house that is packed with knick-knacks. The Christmas decorations truly put you into the spirit of the holiday, but time spent there with a toddler boils down to basically running around constantly moving things and redirecting Norah’s attention to safer toys. There was no deep sigh of holiday relaxation until the wee girl was asleep…and even this was stressful since she doesn’t like falling asleep anywhere but in her own room. She shrieked and wailed. Her kicks and flailings could be heard over the baby monitor, but we stayed strong and waited her out. However, even once the monitor went silent, there was no promise of sleep. We listened to more screams from 2 to 4 am in the middle of the 23rd to 24th night. She in her Pack-n-Play and Moonshot and I beside her in bed…she saw no reason that we should not be holding her. But holding her only enraged her more. So, she went back and forth from bed to Pack-n-Play, from Pack-n-Play to bed. This delightful routine led directly to a grumpy daughter the next day whose tolerance for being led away from various decorative items was markedly reduced. And also to grumpy parents whose tolerance for their daughter’s fits was greatly reduced as well.

I should say that in all, Norah did very well. It’s a lot to ask a 17-month old to deal with, so I’ll not judge her too harshly. And I’ll also say that by the time we packed up to leave, she had learned which items in her Grandma’s house were toys and which weren’t. And she slept soundly on Christmas Eve…so we were all in good spirits for the actual event.

Santa brought Norah her first trike this year. She can’t work the pedals, but she loves to sit on it and scoot about. We had planned to get a cheap plastic Big-Wheel type thing…but thanks to Costco we were able to swing a cool Schwinn retro thing. She rounded the corner from the bedroom, scanned the room and ran straight for that tricycle. She climbed right into the seat and started making “vroom” noises. Ah, parental bliss.

She got lots of art supplies this year. Magna-Doodles and water markers…perfectly times for her new love of scribbling. And also lots of mimicry toys. Small pots and pans, an assortment of truly impressive fake food, and a little vacuum that apparently actually works. We’re introducing the new toys into her world one at a time so that she gets a chance to really look at each one beyond the sensory overload of Christmas morning.

As for me, I came away with a spiffy new bicycle from Moonshot and her family so that I can resume my dream of biking the Katy Trail, an assortment of cool new clothes, tickets to see Wicked at the Fabulous Fox Theater with my wife and few other cool odds and ends.

This weekend will find us in Iowa with Moonshot’s family. Even though I already got the bike they got me, I suppose I’ll still go up there to see them and give them some gifts ;)

And finally, since I haven’t processed any of the Christmas pictures just yet, I’ll leave you all with the shots we sent out with our Christmas cards this year. They may be repeats for many of you, but I think you can never stare at Norah’s cuteness too much…

Hope you all had a wonderful holiday.

Our Beautiful, Snowy Prison

Things have been a bit busy around the Grenstead lately. Between road trips, work schedules, various bouts with viral attacks, Rock Band at the O'Fallon crew's, and this little thing called Christmas hovering over everything...it's been a bit of a whirlwind.

But rest assured...we're still alive (and as of this moment, all healthy) even though you haven't heard from us in a while.

St. Louis was blanketed in our first snow of the season this weekend. It's timing was particularly unfortunate since it meant our extended family Christmas with MoMa’s side of the family was canceled. However, that didn’t me from marveling as I always do at the beauty of new fallen snow.

I skipped the cozy, snow-covered house shot since you all remember what that looks like and instead went for the subtler joys of the season.











I suppose I could put down the camera and help shovel...

Gren(ch)

Nothing can ruin a Christmas surprise quite like a gren

There exists in my marriage an unfortunate combination of traits that makes the statement above unfailingly true. In me there is the constant vigilance for puzzles and clues. In my wife there is the complete inability to keep a secret. Together, these traits have meant that I have ruined the surprise of my Christmas or birthday gift nearly every single time.

Earlier in the year, just prior to my birthday, Moonshot and our friend Pinky had gone shopping together. Moonshot returned quite proud of her birthday purchase and told me that it was, in fact, such a great gift idea that Pinky had picked up one for her huband, Duke, as a Father’s Day gift.

“Cool,” I responded. “So all I need to do is wait til Father’s Day and see what Duke gets. Then I’ll know what I’m getting.”

She grumbled and walked away.

However, she needn’t have worried. The secret was not even to last that long. A few days later, my brother was over. We were watching Heroes in the living room and chatting through the commercials. Suddenly, Moonshot turned to Jet and said, “Oh, that reminds me, after Hereos, I have something to show you.”

I take a quick look at the screen and see a pocket watch displayed prominetley. Through college, I had carried my Dad’s old pocket watch and had often commented that I’d like to have one again. So, clearly I was getting a pocket watch…and said as much.

My lovely wife stuttered and stammered in search of a lie, but came up with nothing. Instead, she opted to overload the situation with far too much information.

“It’s not a pocket watch…it’s a wrist watch. And…just so you know, I didn’t spend as much on yours as Pinky did.”

I stared…dumbfounded. I certainly didn’t care how much she had spent…but was attempting to sort out why this was something she felt she needed to reveal.

“I just didn’t want you to see Duke’s and think you were getting one that nice,” she continued.

Jet interrupted at this point and mercifully stopped the hole my wife was digging.

Recently, Moonshot has been rather proud of some super secret gift she has tucked away for my Christmas. I have actually been trying not to guess, not to look for clues. I would, both for my enjoyment and my wife’s, actually rather be surprised in a timely fashion.

Last weekend, though, Moonshot’s family came to town for Thanksgiving. On Friday night, we got a babysitter for Norah and we headed down to Old Town St. Charles for dinner and a stroll with Mouse and FreddyJ. As tends to happen, FreddyJ and I ended up walking a few paces ahead of the women folk. We were chatting contently about some geeky thing or another when we realized the wives had stopped. I returned to them and was promptly shooed away. As I walked back out of earshot, I noticed they were standing in front of our local bicycle shop. In what I thought was pure whimsy, a playful tease at the ongoing inability to keep a gift secret, I skipped down the sidewalk singing, “Yea!!! I’m getting a bike. Yea!!!”

I had expected at least a small chuckle from my wife, but was met instead with dead silence when my little song was done. I turned back toward her to see what I can only describe as an evil glare. I quickly assumed that she was angry because I was guessing rather expensive gifts that would make her actual gift seem small by comparision (like Duke’s fancy watch, for instance). However, before I could voice such a theory, Moonshot blurted, “You always do this, you always guess!!” By the time I reached her there were the buddings of tears in the corner of her eyes that made me feel grinchlike in my consistent ability to smash my wife’s Christmas plans.

I declined her invitation to see the specific bike she purchased. At least I can be surprised at the color.


Goin’ Mobile!

After months with no laptop…I am pleased to announce that I’m mobile once again. This will make no noticeable difference for you, my readers. But I thought you might like to share a moment of joy for my joy at scoring a free laptop. See, Trixalot picked up a sweet Black Friday deal on a new laptop, which meant his old company one could flow downstream to me. It’s worn and probably on its last leg…but by god, for these fleeting days before it craps out…I have a laptop.

“Now all I need is a flash drive,” I said idly to Trixie, “and I can be totally free to roam.”

Trixie reached into his bag o’ goodies and handed me one. “I got a 4 Gigger when I got the laptop…I don’t need this old 250M anymore.”

Sweet!!!

As is my norm, I called my Mom on the way home from work. I told her about the laptop and the flash drive. As I spoke, I thought perhaps I should define what I was talking about.

“Do you know what a flash drive is?”

There was a small pause followed by a somewhat tense, “Yeah.”

I knew even then what that pause meant. I knew exactly how my mother had learned what a flash drive was.

After a moment of silence, MoMa sighed, “I’m just going to tell you….there’s a flash drive for you wrapped under my tree right now.”

My brother had overheard me wishing for a small flash drive, passed the info on to MoMa who had gone right out and let a salesman talk her into the biggest, baddest flash drive the market currently offers…a flash drive embarrassingly huge for my meager requirements.

So, as I drove, I discussed my plans for my little flash drive. I told MoMa how I really didn’t think I’d have anything on there other than the stories I am working on and various notes and such. A 250M will do me just fine.

She unwrapped the gift and plans to return it today.

Another gift ruined by the gren.

Happy Birthday, Grandpa Husker

Who Wants A Hedgehog Thingy for Their Night Stand?

Mouse Asked the Gren: What is your favorite book and/or author?

Easy one, Mouse. When I was a junior in high school, my good friend Oaf (he’s since made his name public here in the comments, but I still like calling him Oaf) gave me a book and said it was amazing. I took one look at the god-awful, cheesy sci-fi cover and said something non-committal like, “Um…yeah, I’ll see if I can find some time to take a look.” After about a month, I returned the book to him unread. I tried to explain that this sort of Piers Anthony stuff just wasn’t my cup o’ tea.

“Is it the cover?” he exclaimed. “Yeah, the cover’s bad but, dude, the book is great.”

I was unconvinced, “I don’t know, man…that’s a pretty bad cover.”

At which point he ripped the cover off his paperback and handed it to me once again. What could I do? I had to read it then. He had sacrificed his book in order to ensure that I would give it a chance…I kinda owed him.

I will continue to maintain that the cover of this particular book ranks up there with some of the worst. Curse as it is with a rainbow of pastel colors and a hedgehog looking creature that looks nothing like the character I assume the artist was trying to depict, the cover still makes me cringe. However, Oaf was right…the story itself is absolutely magical. I reread it every few years…and with the speed at which I crawl through books, this is a huge complement. But I always find the time for Hyperion by Dan Simmons.

Simmons himself is an amazing writer. He’s written sci-fi, horror, mystery noir, historical fiction, and just about every other genre you could think of. And he brings an artistry to each of them that so many genres often lack. What makes Hyperion his best by far is that he tells seven different stories, each in a different genre and with a different style. All the stories are woven together by their voyaging storytellers (ala Canterbury Tales) and work toward an overarching plot. It’s a book only a genre-hopping author like Simmons could write and it’s filled with countless amazing scenes that continue to stun me no matter how many times I read it. It’s the first part of a four-part series, and while it is undoubtedly the best of the four…the whole saga is still some of the best fiction I’ve ever read.

Sound like something you’d like to read? Well, you’re in luck. About a year ago, I purchased Hyperion in hardcover so that it could take a more prominent position on our bookshelf (and also so that I wouldn’t have to look at the hideous cover art.) This left me with a spare and well-worn paperback copy. Then, as if by divine intervention, along comes a conversation with Simon in which he says a) he has never read Hyperion but would like to and b) he detests creased spines on paperback. I, being who I am, took this opportunity to a) do something generous for a friend and b) annoy him at the same time. I took my beat up Hyperion, inked an inscription in it, wrapped it loosely in brown paper, and entrusted it to the USPS with the understanding that they would in turn hand it over to Canada Post who would deliver it to the unsuspecting Simian. With any luck, they’d add a bit more “character” to the book by the time it arrived so poorly packaged, thus adding to my secondary goal.

Simon read and loved the book. Then, since Mark had also expressed an interest in Hyperion, the book was again inscribed, packaged, and shipped…this time bound for Texas.

Mark read and loved the book. Then, since Alvis had expressed an interest in Hyperion, the book again inscribed and was hand delivered to him since he’s also in the Dallas area.

Alvis read and loved the book and that brings us to the current state of things. We have a well-worn copy of one of science fiction’s finest literary achievements available for shipping. It’s no stranger to travel and is looking for a nightstand on which to crash for a little while. Our goal is to keep this little guy jumping nomadically from reader to reader until the pages can no longer be taped back together.

If anyone reads this and would like to join in the growing list of people who have loved this little paperback, just say so in the comments and email me your address and we’ll have it to you as soon as possible. By accepting this book, you agree to the following:
1) You will read it in a reasonable period of time
2) When finished you will write an inscription and mail it to the next person on the list

So, anyone out there want to spend some time with a hedgehog type thing?