I am a naturalist, with a sixth sense for when company is about to come over. Two minutes before guests arrive, I bare my lower half (shirt can stay on). When stopped, I politely explain that I want to take off my pants, and I always get to take off my pants at school. My mom empathizes and says she says she hates wearing pants too but encourages me to find the strength somewhere inside me to remain clothed for the beginning of the party. An opportunity! So I say, “If I leave my pants on can I have three candies?” I really don’t see anything wrong with rewarding such significant lifestyle compromise.
I’ve been asked to compose this annual holiday letter. In the spirit of the season, I do so fully clothed – you’re welcome, mom and dad.
Since we last spoke, our family has taken a long tap hit from the Kool-Aid keg of social technology. Top of the list is Twitter (twitter.com/teasloane). I embrace brevity and conserve letters like Cooper hoards nickels. All thoughts should be conveyed under Twitter’s 140 character limit. I find two-word sentences generally suffice. Consider the following questions posed to me:
- “Where is everyone?” Me: “Cooper sleeping. Mama working. Devon batteries.”
- “No more dessert!” Me: “Ohhh, mannnnnn.”
- “Where’s mommy’s lipgloss?” Me: Silence.
A second obsession: RockBand. When isn’t it a good time to play RockBand? (Rhetorical question). Like the Partridge Family, each of us has a role in the family band: FLAMES ON FIRE (name credit to Devon). Mommy and I: dancers, Daddy: lead guitar, Coop: drummer with mad skill. Devon bassist sporting a signature drop to the knees move. Our Au Pair, Sandra, joins us for amazingly on-key vocals. Unlike the aforementioned fictional singing family, our favorite songs rock hard. We play Livin’ on a Prayer, Man in the Box, Spoonman and Down With The Sickness. Angst, strife and discord come with greatness and FLAMES ON FIRE IS NOT IMMUNE. Some members aren’t on-board with the focus and long hours of practice necessary to win the upcoming Rolling Stone showcase in Shanghai on Xbox Live.® Indeed recently, Devon somewhat sullenly observed that when we perform, we are just pushing buttons, and thus argued that gameplay of Wii Mario Kart is more dynamic – and by extension more educational.
Cooper believes that everyone should love their work as much has Mommy loves hers. To that end, he is convinced that he can make money playing Wii. His backup money-making scheme involves inviting people to witness his trampoline tricks, which tend toward flips and competitive bouncing. Devon has honed in on selling paper airplanes. He’s worked out production, and has built several hundred prototypes. Prices range from $.25 to $250. He believes that the price-quality inference will be made, and the $250 planes will make the mid-priced $100 planes seem a great deal. It’s called a context effect and restaurants have used it to sell wine for years.
It’s not all tech here, we also kick it old-school. We play “cards” – a game that my parents say has been around since they were kids (they might be joking). Also, Cinnamon toast cereal. Really can’t say enough about it. We get 3 boxes at a time. It edges out Grape Nuts among the 3-7 demographic. Uncertain health/nutrition benefits. We don’t care.
Time is still a difficult concept, particularly for Devon. When mommy says: “We are going to go to Sweden in a few months,” he hears: “We will be going to Sweden after school.” Therefore, a) he will immediately dress for the plane (layers for cold, Nintendo DS hidden in sweatshirt pocket for boredom, cookie smashed into back pocket for sustenance), b) bag will be packed, and c) teacher will have heard that Devon is off to Sweden after school, unable to return to school for a long time – a week or probably a year.
Cooper gets time, but he doesn’t get dating. He asked our babysitter if she was married. “No” replies our babysitter. “Maybe you should get a husband?” Cooper chirps helpfully. “Great! Where do you get a husband?” Babysitter clearly intrigued. “At Costco®” Coop believes that Costco sells everything. “No!” Devon interjects with certainty: “You get a husband at the palace. And he decides he is going to marry you after you dance together. Then you decide it is ok, and then you get married. So go to the palace. Not Costco. They will be all out.”
My brothers each wrote a book (available on blurb.com) covering their first 6 years (mine is currently with the editor). Some excerpts:
Devon: “When I am old, I will be 99. I will get white hair. I will go grocery shopping and go to bed early. I might take walks.”
Cooper: “When I am old, I will be 16 years old. I will drive a car. My skin will start to get dots. Your hair gets to have a different color. You maybe get to ride in a wheelchair.”
But before distribution, C&D had to: (1) Conduct qualitative one-on-one interviews to determine price (ask random people like Bob our solar guy how much they would pay for such a book & why). (2) Determine their target market (so far three people – all relatives). (3) Devise the marketing campaign (Devon decided he would set up a stand not unlike his recent lemonade stand on the Marina Green and yell on the street corner, ‘BOOKS!!! BOOKS FOR SALE!!”)
My mom continues to bang on the keyboard all the time; aside from this she in full of endearing qualities. She spills incessantly, embracing dad’s Scooba® floor-washing robot as a necessary countermeasure. When she buys white clothing, my dad gets a really pained look on his face. Dad continues to thrive, not only as lead guitar of FLAMES ON FIRE, but as acquirer and master of all things technology. He keeps the American economy afloat in these times of trouble, and has started to ‘green-up’ our home with motion and occupancy sensors ostensibly to conserve power. Just yesterday he enlisted my help holding a flashlight as he fixed the compactor. I encouraged him by kissing his cheek repeatedly. He is my hero. I just wish he would stop asking me if I’ll always be his little girl. I always answer “yes!” but he’s asked it enough to make me think there may be an option B.
We hope you had much laughter, love and Cinnamon Toast cereal in your life this year, and more to come in 2009.