'Twas The Night Before ... Man, "'Twas' Is Such A Funny Word, Right? Always Cracks Me Up. Anyway, Where Was I? Ah: 'Twas The Night Before Christmas

Last year NJ was four months old at Christmas, so there wasn't a lot of Santa's-coming-to-your-house-with-presents hoopla. I mean, she couldn't even sit up by herself without the aid of a Bumbo (right) -- so even though she made out like an adorable little bandit, present-wise, there was no need to go through with the Christmas morning ceremonies. (My family has always done Christmas the right way: We open presents from each other after dinner on Christmas Eve, then go to bed and wake up to more gifts -- the ones Santa brought from the North Pole because I was such a very, very good boy all year long.)

This year, of course, is much different -- the kid is a force in the house. Walking, jabbering, running after the dog when prompted, all of that. Today we found that, in the spirit of this blog's title, she's pretty handy with a light saber (actually, a cardboard wrapping paper tube). The three of us just spent a good fifteen minutes playing "NJ slays the parental Stormtroopers" in her bedroom. (Only now is it dawning on me that, basically, we just taught her how to attack someone with a sword -- if she grows up to be a samurai villian, it'll be no one's fault but mine.)

Prepare to get bonked.

Once we've eaten dinner and NJ is asleep in her crib, The Wife and I will mobilize. There are a few presents that need assembly, and we have to arrange things in the living room Just So to maximize the "excited kid toddles into a toy wonderland on Christmas morning" vibe that, hopefully, I'll be capturing tomorrow with the camcorder.

McCartney's Beatles Songs For $600, Alex

NJ's "Birthday" was "Yesterday" (see what I did there?) and only a bad blog father would let such a momentous milestone pass without mentioning it on the World Wide Interwebs. (Actually, that's what a really bad blog father would do; one who's merely bad, not really bad, waits until the next day. And that's me. Sorry, NJ.)

No party (plenty of time for that later), just the three of us. When we weren't lavishing NJ with attention, The Wife and I spent most of the day looking at the clock and saying things like "This time last year you were asking for an epidural." She got lots of new toys -- including a drum The Wife bought her, a gift I thought you only gave to kids whose parents you don't like -- and marked three fun, if not earth-shattering, milestones.

Balloons: I'm not sure what we spent all told on NJ's birthday bounty, but the likely least expensive item, the balloon bouquet, was her favorite.

Wow, that's even bigger than daddy's head!

Sugar: NJ devoured a banana cupcake with vanilla frosting -- the first concentrated sugar she's ever had. She was a little tentative about it to start, but once she got a taste for The Sweet she grabbed that thing and did not let go.

Sugar, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Bathtub: The night before NJ's birthday ended up being the last night she took a bath in the little blue tub we put in the kitchen sink. Sunday night's cleaning took place in the bathtub, so no more wet baby hands on Dad Solo's coffee grinder. The move had been planned for some time, and for some arbitrary reason we settled on her birthday to make the switch. And, of course, the sink tub would never hold the extensive collection of bath toys she received for her birthday.

Mommy! This is so stinking luxurious I think I may plotz.

So happy birthday, NJ! One down, one hundred or so to go.