It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas

Let the holidays begin! It was the last day of school (munchkins) and work (me) yesterday, so we have officially started Christmas at the PM house.

Although we've been working up to it for a week now. Last week was The Girl's first public cello appearance at her school concert. Look how excited she is!

And here she is getting her Yo-Yo Ma on.

You can hear for yourself how good they sound (she's just behind the girl to the right in the white dress). I was honestly quite impressed - the vast majority of these kids have been playing for only four months.

Of course, school concerts aren't the only Christmas cheer going on. It was the church pageant on Sunday.

The Boy is a wise guy and The Girl is a shepherd. She was a bit mad about that; she wanted to be Mary. We actually had a real Baby Jesus this year so we didn't have to use the doll (that's a small church for you).

I love our church's Christmas pageant. The kids' part is totally ad hoc; they practice their song for a couple of weeks before, they get a script by email during the week, and then that morning we throw costumes on whoever stands still long enough. You're a visiting child? Awesome - we're one wise man short. No, you don't have to say anything. Just stand there with your paper crown and smile.

It's actually been a brown Christmas so far, much to the sadness of our kids. Our fancy new snowblower, bought with memories of 12 ft dumpings and collapsed Metrodome roofs haunting us, has been used exactly once. However, if that means insurance against winter coming, I'm all for it.

It was 8 degrees (Celcius, baby!) on Sunday afternoon and I went for the most amazing walk by the lake in just my sweater. (Well, I had pants on, too. And shoes.) Got to see the sun setting over the lake - look how much open water is left.

Fast forward through three days of work/school (which actually dragged and draaaaaaged for those of us counting down the hours). The first year we lived here, we brought all our Christmas presents north with us to open on Christmas. As we packed up presents (wrapped) that we knew we were just going to bring back with us (unwrapped), we felt a bit silly.

Plus, there's the lure of the "just our family" Christmas. Something we want to give our kids but also something that is logistically difficult since we're usually far from home that day. So our solution has been to celebrate PM Christmas the night before we leave for the Great White North, regardless of what the little number on the calendar says.

The "traditional" meal is fettucini alfredo. (We had caesar salad and garlic bread too, so I'd stay clear of the PM house for at least today - it's pretty garlicky.)

Then as soon as the kids can muscle us away from the table (I had third helpings of salad just to make them mad, snicker), it's present time.


And it ends as all Christmases should - each kid in a separate chair, eyes glued to a tiny screen and the house filled with the sounds of Pokemon and Link and Zelda dancing through our heads.

We're off for Christmas Part 2 (and 3 and 4) as soon as The Husband gets home from work. Here's hoping they've got some snow north of the 49th!

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Cowboys and Spandex

Am I the only girl to barf in a Vegas casino?

Probably not.

But the only one to do so because of too much Gatorade?

Quite possibly.

Last weekend The Husband and I ran what must be our craziest race yet - a half marathon in Las Vegas. Probably not the first place you think of when picturing a destination race, but it was So. Much. Fun.

Seeing as how our plane departed from the Midwest, we didn't really notice the odd cowboy hat. And during our layover in Phoenix, the many cowboy boots sorta made sense. But when we got to Vegas and started seeing Stetson after Stetson, we got a bit bewildered.

Turns out the National Rodeo Finals were in town at the same time as the half marathon. Which basically meant it was the Calgary Stampede meets The Running Room.

Totally hilarious. Everyone was parading around in their gear, whether that meant full-on spurs and lassos (yep, I saw a lasso) or arm-warmers and Nikes. (Fortunately, never on the same person.)

There was even a mechanical bull (sorry, most of these are phone pictures, so quality is not great):

It being Vegas, it was tended by a girl wearing chaps over the latest from Victoria's Secret. Of course.

But our purpose wasn't eight seconds; it was 13.1 miles, so we threw in our lot with 38,000 others in the Spandex Crew.

Saturday was the expo and packet pick-up. Sunday morning was carb-loading:

Pancakes for The Husband and an omelette for me. I will say that if you're trying to rest up before a race and drink lots of (non-alcoholic) fluids, Vegas is not the easiest location. So we spent Sunday in our room, watching football and reading. I'll let you guess who did which activity.

Our hotel was the start/finish line, so we got to watch the preparations unfold all afternoon. The race was at night and they shut down The Strip for it, so it was two hours of gawking at traffic backing up and people flooding down to the start line.

Then we suited up and got ready to head down. It was about 10 degrees (Celsius), so while the Canucks were wearing shorts and t-shirts, the weather guy on the TV was warning about the dangerous cold and the other runners were suiting up in long pants and toques.

I have to say that the organizers get fairly low marks in the logistics department. By the time The Husband and I managed to get down to the finish line (no easy task, since there was a Cowboys vs. Spandex throwdown when the Christmas in Kentucky concert let out just as we were trying to get out and a thousand rodeo-ers met a thousand racers going the other way in a very narrow hallway [note: we lost. They had spurs]), we couldn't get into the right corrals, which meant we had to start way at the back.

It's chip time, so your personal gun only starts when you cross the start line, but when you have that many people and the fast people already got started and you're stuck in the back with the shufflers and the Nordic walkers (seriously? Poles on a half marathon??), your pace is determined by the folks around you.

We both spent the race dodging and weaving, trying to get a clear path. The Husband had it worse than I did, since he started in a corral of people used to doing 11 minute miles and he was hoping for sub-sevens. After about four miles, I realized I wasn't going to get anywhere fast, so I just settled in and tried to enjoy myself.

And I totally did. It was so unbelievably much fun running down The Strip. The lights, the bands, the crazy people, the perfect temperature for a run, plus all of the energy coursing through my body since I'd been sitting around all day - I ran that whole race with a smile on my face.

(Okay, totally not a great pic, but you can sorta see the Eiffel Tower lit up. Hey, I'm running with a camera phone - it's an action shot.)

The Bellagio fountain was totally cheering me on, too.

This is me crossing the finish line!

And the happy and proud couple back up in the hotel room, displaying hard-won medals.

Now, I've been looking forward to this race for almost a year. And my plan that entire time was to celebrate finishing the race with mashed potatoes at Nine Fine Irishmen and a nice big glass o' beer (seeing as how I would have had to abstain for awhile before the race).

So we got ready and headed out. Crazy crowds (that whole 38,000 people thing), so we decided to walk over instead of take the tram. And about ten minutes in I started to feel a bit woozy. So I sat down. In a hallway. We figured I'd overheated a bit in the race, since I was constantly sprinting and slowing down and sprinting again, trying to make up some time.

I felt better, so we kept going. Another five minutes and I had to sit down again. Which was closer - restaurant or our room? Restaurant at that point, so I decided to man up and get there, figuring mashed potatoes would set me right.

Got as far as this slot machine:

And suddenly felt the entire Gatorade I had chugged post-race deciding that it would rather be out than in.

"Where's the bathroom?!" said The Husband nervously.

"No time - I'll never make it..." I groaned.

"Here - take this," said my knight in shining armour, as he handed me his (favourite) sweatshirt.

Let's just say it's not his favourite anymore. In fact, it didn't come home with us.

I felt a lot better after puking up everything in my system (which I can tell you with authority was one Gatorade, three energy gels, and one protein bar), but not good enough to do much more than head back to the room and sleep it all off.

But fortunately we still had one more day, so the next day we managed to cram in all the celebrating. Including mashed potatoes at Nine Fine:

Seriously. The finest mashed potatoes I've ever had. And they were extra good for being so hard-won.

Happy Husband. In a t-shirt. Since he only brought one sweatshirt.

We got to see Cirque de Soleil (Beatles - so great!) and learned how to play craps (well, he learned and I just stood there with my eyes glazing over) and I got to play my beloved penny slots and we lost just enough to ensure we don't decide to make the casino our 401k but not enough to make us sad. We ate guacamole at our favouritest Mexican place and The Husband saw the guy from Pawn Stars right in the casino and we marveled at the belt buckles. We laughed and ran and barfed and laughed some more.

In short, an amazing vacation. I would highly recommend it. Although, if you go, I'd maybe avoid the slot machine by the escalators in The Excalibur. I tried to wipe it off, but you never know.

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