Christmas

The evidence

The fact that there is no chimney at the Tall House has been the subject of many bedtime chats between myself and our little Superhero.

Little Superhero: What if HE can't make it in, Mummmyyyyy?

Mummmyyyyy: Well, then he'll use the door.

Little Superhero (shaking his head vehemently with panic in his voice): No, nooo cause that would be like stealing!

Well, Santa, being the ingenious fellow that he is, did indeed find a way in. The big guy chose to make his entrance through the skylight in the top floor bathroom. We know this because on Christmas morning, his big brown eyes the size of saucers, our little Superhero himself discovered a torn piece of Santa's coat wedged in the skylight's opening.

Although we are as yet uncertain how this happened, we have discussed it at great length. And the general consensus is that perhaps our favorite man in red sampled one too many cookies while delivering gifts to the previous good boy's and girl's houses, making that opening well, really quite tight.

But what will become of Santa's coat? Well our Little Superhero has hidden away the two precious, ripped pieces for safe keeping until next year. "So that then we can give it back to HIM, and that way Mrs Clause can fix it!"

Of course there were presents under the tree, and stockings, and a feast. But they are already a fading memory. Because this year we discovered that Santa really does exist. A dear little five year old boy holds the proof. And that will never, ever be forgotten.

Merry Christmas everyone, from the Tall House to yours.

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Frozen Pipes

Well, what I saw coming a mile away sadly happened. No amount of panic on my part, seemed to imprint on Manu the importance of getting heat to the basement.

-The pipes are going to freeze.

- No they won't.

Manu, having wisely preferred to live at home during his early adulthood rather than rough it in student apartment squalor, was sadly oblivious to the facility with which pipes in northern climes freeze. The fact that I had all too much experience in this domain didn't sway him in the least.

-The basement bathroom is flanked by two outside walls just like pre-yuppie apartment X, where the pipes froze every winter. And I was LIVING there.

-Maybe so, but OUR pipes won't freeze.

So even when I started waking up at night, descending flashlight in hand into the basement, clad in my PJ's and using my work boots as slippers, to run the water for a few minutes in a vain attempt at preventing the ice from accumulating in the pipes, Manu didn't budge.

-If we re hook-up the wall heater in the bathroom the pipes won't freeze.

-The pipes aren't going to freeze.

But then the temperature took a turn decidedly south. And the block heater finally got relocated to the basement. But it was too late. The pipes froze. And burst.

I was too bummed even to mutter "I told you so". The mess, the money wasted, not to mention the potential can of worms that this little mishap may uncover, squelched any sort of satisfaction I may have had at being right. And Manu's penance was paid ten fold while trying to install temporary valves to cut off the water supply to the basement bathroom.

But next time, I won't wait for a unanimous decision before calling the electrician, plumber or even the damned candlestick maker. From now on, when it comes to averting disaster autocracy rules.

Queen Frozenpipes has spoken.

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