Small Fry

Menu Monday: Annoyed Baby Edition

IT IS STILL TECHNICALLY MONDAY, OKAY?

Last week, I made a mistake that led to a good sort of problem: I planned too many meals. Our wonderful neighbor Amanda brought us a pan of venison lasagna Friday night, and there was no way I was cooking once I had that ready-made deliciousness in my hands. And Saturday, I forgot that we were going to a Mardi Gras open house at our other neighbors’ house. This is our first year living on the parade route, and we are happy to report no major problems or inconveniences except for a traffic jam on our street after the Krewe of Centaur parade finished up, which didn’t bother us because we weren’t going anywhere. The Guy had to work late last Saturday, and I’m still too much of a nervous mother hen to do take Harper to things like that by myself (first baby, etc.), but we’re planning to walk down to the Gemini parade this weekend. I’ve been working on teaching Harper to scream and lift her shirt, and I think we’re making some real progress.

(Kidding, Mother. Kidding.)

So there are a couple repeats from last week, but I spiced things up (spiced? See what I did there?) by including a Powell Family Original (TM) recipe.

Menu Monday: Baby Bonus Edition.

Monday: Pork tenderloin tips, sweet potato (we split one) and Brussels sprouts.

Tuesday: The Guy’s Tuna Rigatoni Marinara (recipe below)

Wednesday: Soup and sandwiches

Thursday: Out for Dad’s birthday

Friday: Baked Ziti With Spinach

Saturday: The Guy’s seafood gumbo – this time, we’re trying out a baked roux.

Sunday: Grilled pork chops and broccoli

The Guy’s Tuna Rigatoni Marinara

Look, I know what you’re gonna say: “Canned tuna? And store-bought marinara sauce? Blech!” PREACHIN’ TO THE CHOIR, FOLKS, preachin’ to the choir. The Guy invented this little delicacy one night while I was at Bunco, and when I came home and he told me what unholiness he hath wrought in our kitchen, I fully expected to hate it. But it was good, y’all, I swear (I only tasted it because I am a very nice wife). And it’s turned out to be one of our favorite meals, honest! Of course, it doesn’t hurt that we almost always have all the ingredients on hand, it takes about 20 minutes to make and it’s SUPER cheap.

1 tblsp extra virgin olive oil
1 tblsp minced garlic (I actually prefer freeze-dried garlic, but then I’m not usually the one cooking this)
2 small or 1 large can water-packed solid white albacore tuna
1/2 tsp chili flakes (optional)
1 jar tomato pasta sauce (we like vodka pasta sauce)
1 pound rigatoni pasta, or any large pasta you have on hand
Salt for pasta water
Parmesan cheese (if desired)

Heat olive oil, then add garlic; stir for a couple minutes. Add tuna and chili flakes (if using) and cook for five minutes, stirring often. Pour in sauce; cook at least until heated through, but ideally for as long as possible. While sauce is simmering, boil pasta. Cook for one minute less than package directions. Drain pasta, return to boiling pot and pour in sauce. Cook on low heat for 5 minutes more. Serve with Parmesan cheese, if desired.

Your can-opening
Kel

And Now for Some Good to Go With the Bad

Updated: Please pray with all your might for the families affected by the school shooting in Connecticut. Our hearts go out especially to the moms and dads who lost their little ones today. It’s an unimaginable tragedy for any parent to face, and it’s even sadder that it happened at this time of year. We also pray for the children of the world, who have to grow up with the reality that horrors like this are not just the stuff of their nightmares.

Y’all better believe I’m holding Ratine Powell a little tighter today and thanking the Most High God that my biggest problem is screwed-up knees.

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For obvious reasons, my appointment with the orthopedist got moved up to yesterday. He examined my knees and took a bunch of X-rays, and while the verdict was not entirely good, it was more positive than we had braced ourselves to expect.

Good: The right kneecap (the one I dislocated) is not torn, and there’s nothing chipped off of it. So there’s no reason to perform surgery now. In fact, the right knee will probably never need surgery (barring any more major disasters, of course). So YAY!

Bad: The knee will, however, have to be in a brace for six to 12 weeks. I will need help with Harper for two to three weeks.

Good: I start physical therapy next week, and the doctor said as long as we’re working on one knee, we might as well work on both, which may either lower the need for surgery on my left knee or make rehab after surgery go much, much easier.

Bad: Surgery on the left knee is still, of course, a distinct possibility.

Good: The brace I wore for my first major dislocation, the original one on the left knee, immobilized my entire leg from hip to ankle, i.e., I could not bend my knee at all. Not only was it difficult to get around, the PT afterwards was, how shall we say, intense. Also painful. THIS brace, however, is smaller (about mid-calf to mid-thigh), so it’s a bit more comfortable AND it has a hinge in it so I can bend my knee a little.

Bad: I have to wear it ON my leg, i.e., not over pants, tights or leggings. Not surprisingly, I don’t have any pants with legs wide enough to accommodate this big ugly mofo. Actually, that’s a lie; I do, but they’re sweatpants from Victoria’s Secret with “PINK” emblazoned across the rear.

Needless to say, I will NOT be leaving the house in THOSE.

Good: I have at least two maxi skirts that I can wear, and I just ordered another one from the Gap.

P.S. If you need a little retail therapy today, use the promo code GAPGIFT to get 30 percent off your entire order, including sale items. I got that skirt and a sweater for $43!

Good: My WONDERFUL neighbor Amanda brought over BAGS of delicious but healthy food yesterday, including: salad, vinaigrette dressing, grilled chicken, kalamata olives, artichoke hearts, tomatoes, a fresh baguette, gourmet cheeses, crackers, roasted garlic hummus, pitas, a jar of Roma tomato chili melange, homemade tabbouleh with shrimp and a bottle of Chardonnay. OK, so maybe the Chardonnay isn’t particularly healthy, but it sure is tasty.

Bad: No bad there, except The Guy and I probably had really rank breath from all that garlic hummus. As he said last night, injured or not, that was one of the best dinners we’ve had in ages.

Bad: I feel irrationally guilty that my mom, mother-in-law and Amanda are having to help me with Rat.

Good: Since I’ll be spending a lot of time with my mom and, well, I have quite a bit of time on my hands at the moment, she’s finally going to teach me to hand-sew.

That’s right – I can cross-stitch, embroider (by hand!) and sew on a machine ’til Jesus comes back, but I have no earthly idea how to hand-sew.

Bad: My husband suggested that I audition for the role of a mentally handicapped woman. Oh yes he did.

Good: After he, uh, CLARIFIED that statement, it became obvious that he has much (misplaced) faith in my (nonexistent) acting talents. And he does have a point – I did grow up around a mentally handicapped person, and I can do a pretty awesome Aunt Carol impression*, not to mention that it’s not exactly a stretch for me to walk funny at this particular point in time.

However, this play is set in New York, and I think any of you who have ever heard me talk can probably agree that the chances of me leaving my Southern accent entirely behind are slim to none. On the other hand, it’s not like I don’t have time for dialect coaching right now.

*Please note: Do not send me 28,000 misspelled emails written entirely in capital letters telling me what a horrible person I am for making fun of the mentally handicapped. Aunt Carol could have an IQ of 192 and an impression of her would STILL be funny, I assure you. She may be mentally handicapped, but she’s also kind of a snob. She is also the biggest LSU fan on Planet Earth, a Goldwater Republican and a lover of badminton. There are students currently studying at Harvard who can’t remember dates as well as she can, and I am 90 percent sure that she would punch my mother, her big sister, in the face for a bag of M&Ms (plain, not peanut).

Bad: I can’t climb the stairs for another week or two, so The poor, long-suffering Guy has to make multiple trips upstairs every night for craft supplies.

Good: I have set up Crafting Command Central on the sofa; The Guy now not only knows what a Xyron is but also what it does.

Bad: Since I am no longer getting LASIK for Christmas, The Guy told me to look on the Internet and find something else I want for Christmas (!!!!). PEOPLE, I COULD NOT FIND A THING. I mean, I was on the Tory Burch site, so believe me, I found plenty of stuff I would NOT turn down, but I didn’t find anything I wanted badly enough to spend the money on it and/or that I can use for the next several weeks (e.g., I’m pretty sure a pair of Hunter Wellingtons will NOT fit over this dumb brace).

I also considered asking for chickens, but Mom and Dad, as former chicken keepers themselves, assured me there is no way my injured self can have a coop and all the other paraphernalia The Ladies would require prepared in time for Christmas.

Kelly’s Christmas Wish List:
1. Tory Burch flats
2. Chickens (hens)

Clearly, I have a wide range of interests.

Good: The Guy is going to surprise me! On the one hand, I’m a little afraid that I’m going to get a stocking full of nothing but leopard-print panties, but on the other, I’m pretty darn excited.

Despite a couple of bummers, the Christmas season is full of possibility.

Your optimistic
Kel

P.S. I almost forgot! More good: A lovely and radiant pregnant Christmas angel by the name of Emily brought me a GORGEOUS Christmas tree skirt that looks absolutely fantastic with my tree. MUCH more beautiful than the one I ordered, I assure you. Obviously, this is the skirt I was meant to have all along!

Of Bum Knees and Christmas Tree Skirts

So I guess I need to let y’all know what’s been going on. I was in denial for about 24 hours. And actually, while we’re on the subject, you should know that I love denial. You can convince yourself of anything, you know, including that everything is juuuuust peachy.

But reality has sunk in, and I have come to terms, more or less, with the fact that life in the Powell household is going to be very different for a while.

The last couple of weeks have been…yeah.

In order:

1. My child had an ear infection so bad that she had to go to the doctor twice and the E.R. once. This went on for 10 straight days. Those of you who are parents are cringing right now, imagining what her mood was like.

As The Guy’s boss said, “It’s been 15 years since I had a baby with an ear infection. Can’t say I miss ‘em.”

2. On Oct. 15, I ordered a red and white chevron-striped Christmas tree skirt with “Powell” embroidered on it in green from one of those deal-of-the-day sites called Very Jane. After much back-and-forth, the seller assures me that it shipped last Tuesday. It never arrives.

After several more terse emails, she finally tells me that, in essence, she fibbed when she told me the skirt shipped Tuesday, because it turns out that she didn’t even have it yet. Either that, or she was planning to make, monogram and ship my Christmas tree skirt in one day.

(My mom is a professional seamstress who has been sewing for most of her life. Even she is unable to make, monogram and ship a Christmas tree skirt in one day.)

Rather than in any way making this situation right, she simply tells Very Jane to refund my money. So now it’s 13 days until Christmas and I have no tree skirt despite ordering one two months ago, and as you will soon see, I can’t exactly go shopping for one, either. Oh, and Very Jane DID give me a refund, but they steadfastly refuse to acknowledge my horrible customer-service experience.

Merry Christmas to me.

3. I went to the doctor, where I learned I will have to have surgery on my left knee. This is inconvenient but not necessarily unexpected. As Dr. Brandi put it, “Knees usually finally say ‘enough’ after so many years of dance.”

What was most disappointing is that I had finally made the decision to start taking ballet again. Feel free to laugh all you want, but I don’t think I can express how much I was looking forward to it. I mean, I know good and well that I could practice seven days a week for the rest of my life and never again reach the level I was at when I quit, but 1) it’s some of the best exercise there is and 2) it’s an activity that I truly love like no other.

But that’s life, and that’s dance. There are lots of disappointments.

4. I go on a photo shoot, where I dislocate the OTHER knee.

Excuse my profanity here, but no, I am not, in fact, shitting you.

I didn’t fall, and I wasn’t hanging sideways out of a tree or doing anything equally risky. I simply knelt to take a shot (just like any of you who are clients have seen me do a hundred times), and when I got up, bingo. The pain took my breath away, and I couldn’t talk for a little bit.

Here’s the craziest part: After it happened, I just kept on shooting. Not because I’m some kind of badass or anything, but because a) I was completely and utterly humiliated and 2) I am apparently a pathological people-pleaser. The way I saw it (at the moment, at least) was that my clients had driven all the way to Benton from Mooringsport and I was not about to send them home with four pictures simply because my knee couldn’t behave itself.

Thank God it popped back in on its own, or otherwise this story probably would’ve ended with them calling an ambulance for me.

On the bright side, their pictures turned out really pretty.

5. Because of Knee Dislocation IV (yes, four; that’s exactly four more dislocations than anyone should experience in a single lifetime), I had to cancel a three-hour birthday party shoot for this coming weekend. Thank God, my friend Henrietta agreed at the last minute to take the job in my place. Also thank God that the kid’s parents are doctors, so they understand the situation and were super nice about it and grateful that I found a replacement for them.

Who do these things happen to, I ask you? Who?

6. Then, after rearranging my and The Guy’s entire lives because I can’t pick up the baby off of the floor and/or carry her anywhere, I go to the eye doctor to have my pre-op LASIK exam and learn that I am at risk for a complication and have to have an additional scan before I can have the surgery.

Good: This scanner represents the very latest in ophthalmologic technology!

Bad: However, it has not yet arrived in Shreveport.

Worse: Because it was ordered from overseas and is currently stuck in customs.

Because of the Christmas holidays, they’re not doing surgery as often, so my procedure has been postponed until January 25. This after wearing my glasses and having a perpetual headache for two weeks. I am not ashamed to tell you that I started crying right there in the doctor’s office.

So instead of getting 20/20 vision for Christmas, it looks like I’m actually getting surgical scars and at least two knee braces.

Santa, I’m gonna be honest right now: I’m considering baking Ex-Lax into your cookies, you fat m0#$3^f@(43^.

Because I am trying to maintain some semblance of positivity, we will not discuss the likelihood that, for my and The Guy’s Great-Gatsby-themed New Year’s party, an event I have looked forward to literally for YEARS, I will be sitting in a chair almost the entire time.

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While I would like to tell you that I have maintained an unfailingly sunny attitude throughout all this strife, that would be a bald-faced lie. There has been much wailing, gnashing of teeth, rending of garments and florid, Texas-style profanity. It is exceedingly difficult – nay, impossible! – for me to sit and watch a movie without doing anything else, so you can imagine how I feel about being confined to the sofa for two and a half days. And not being able to take care of the house, laundry and baby the way *I* like to do it is about to cause my OCD to eat me alive from the inside out.

The Guy cautions me all the time to stay out of the business of trying to decipher God’s plans, but in this situation, if I had to guess, I’d say that this is his sure-fire way of getting me to slow down. I never take off work even when I intend to. Technically, I’m taking December off, but I turned in an article yesterday and had scheduled no less than four photo shoots. I haven’t slowed down in a long, long time, and I know in my heart that I need to. I’ve been working as hard as I can this year to be the best mom I can possibly be and to grow the photography business, and I’m getting really tired – like, tired way deep down where I can’t even see. There’s just so much I want to do and make and plan and help with! But it’s time to take a break. Obviously, my knees think so, too.

So if you need me over the next few weeks, for once, you’ll know exactly where to find me – on the sofa. While that may sound heavenly to some, I know it’s going to take some adjustment for me to be OK with it, but I also know those are adjustments I need to make. And I’d love some company, so if you feel like visiting, stop by and sit a while. (Bonus points if you bring Thai food like my sweet friend Angela did today.)

Apparently, I’m not going anywhere for a while!

Your laid-up
Kel

Party Girl

Predictably, a sense of melancholy fell over me after Harper’s first birthday party. After weeks of planning, strategizing, shopping, choosing, ordering, crafting, sewing and a whole lot of hot gluing (also: second-degree burning), I finally had a moment to sit and think about my girl being one whole entire year old, and how this “baby” business is flying by way, way too fast for my liking.

Rat's first birthday party is five days away, and Mom and I are sitting smack in the middle of crafting and sewing hell.

I think I shall take her out in the rain and shrink her so she’ll stay a baby forever.

That’s how it works, right?

DSC_0406

At any rate, she had a blast at her party, which is the best outcome I could’ve possibly hoped for. And, after some initial skepticism, it turns out Little Miss is quite the fan of cupcakes, just like her mama.

DSC_1571

Also, she is now under the erroneous impression that all cupcakes are for her. I.e., she threw a fit at Joy’s birthday brunch when I wouldn’t hand over my entire cupcake.

Before Harper was born, I started planning a cowgirl theme (yes, I am EXACTLY the kind of person who begins planning her daughter’s first birthday party before she’s even born), but in February, I decided Raggedy Ann was the only way to go. See, Raggedy Ann dolls are one of Delta Gamma’s symbols. (Well, officially, DG refers to it as a “Hannah Doll,” but in reality, most chapters use Raggedy Anns.) It was my small way of honoring Thorpe, whom Harper never got to meet.

DSC_0281

I hope Thorpe would’ve been tickled pink.

The lovely and incredibly talented Henrietta Wildsmith photographed the event for us. She also took Harper’s newborn photos and photographed her baptism, and as usual, she did an incredible job. Thanks to her hard work, I was able to be completely present for Harper’s party and focus on being a proud mom, not a photographer, and that meant the world to me.

Plus, we got our Christmas card photo out of it, so SCORE.

We also need to talk about how AMAZING The Guy was during my days (and nights) of June-Cleaver-on-speed-esque over-planning and neurosis leading up to the party. He never ONCE complained, and he jumped in and cheerfully did every single thing that needed to be done, including, but not limited to, going to three different stores to find polka-dotted balloons and paper straws and making an 11 p.m. run to Walmart to get Tabasco for the cucumber tea sandwiches. Because if THAT’S not a bona fide emergency, you’re going to have to tell me what is because I just don’t know.

In sum: A real man will hold you while you freak the eff out about be-glittered chipboard letters.

Want to see some more pics from Harperpalooza? They’re right here. That’s not all of them – Henrietta literally shot hundreds (a photographer after my own heart!) – but those are the ones that tell the story of a fun, exciting day that we two out of three of us will remember forever.

Your party-hoppin’
Kel

Birthday Girl

Today, my newborn baby Rat is one year old. To be precise, she will be exactly one year old today at 5:56 p.m. That’s the first time I heard her sweet little mewing cry, a sound I wish I had recorded because it’s growing increasingly difficult to remember what this busy little girl looked and sounded like as a tiny, helpless baby.

Eighteen Hours.

She is already everything I always hoped I would be. And no, I don’t mean that in a weird, vicarious sort of way, like I just gave away my nefarious plan to mold her into a NYCB dancer in my basement lair, but she’s fiercer, braver and mightier than her mama ever thought about being.

Bonnet.

My daughter has changed my life for the better in more ways than I could list in a book, let alone on this blog. Being her father’s wife and her mother are the two greatest things I’ve ever done and ever will do, and if anyone thinks that’s hopelessly un-feminist or that I’ve lost my sense of self or, frankly, my mind, well, I can live with that. I am an integral part of a family. I am important and necessary in ways I never thought I would be. I finally have some sense of my own worth in the eyes of God, and that is what Harper Nell Powell gave to me on her birthday.

Trust the Gorton's Fisherman.

Lest you think I’ve completely gone down the rabbit-hole, I’ll tell you that I still adore my job(s), and I expect I always will. (I told Blake the other day that I don’t ever plan to “retire.” Sure, I’d like to work less and with less pressure, but giving up writing and photography would be the exact opposite of a happy retirement.) I love that I get the opportunity every day to be creative (and get paid for it!), and I love interacting with other adults in a professional setting. I even love the minutiae of running a business. It’s just that I love being a wife and mom more. And if there’s just one thing I want Harper to know always, it’s that I love her and I love being her mom. As I sit here, I know that my own mother loves me more than anything in the world, but I don’t think she was particularly fired up about being a mom in general. I, on the other hand, relish it. I love washing Harper’s little clothes, I love picking up her toys, I love thinking of what to feed her for meals, I love reading books about child development, I love socializing with other moms, I love taking her to church even though it’s exhausting, I love sewing and crafting things for her, I love changing her diaper in the back of my car and I love planning her birthday party (which has been the main reason for my recent unplanned blog hiatus).

Bath time.

That sounds like a lot of distractions from work, and it is, but being Harper’s mom has given me and my photography business a clarity and a focus that I never knew I could have and that, to be bluntly honest, very few who know me personally, including me, thought I was capable of. What used to take my all day can now be done in a couple of hours, i.e., during naptime. And although I try never to speak for The Guy, I think he would wholeheartedly agree that, although he has always loved his job, he has a whole new level of enthusiasm and confidence about it, in part because of his role as a father. If you were to distill it down to a single reason, I guess it’s that there are far fewer hours in a day that we can spend focused solely on our work, so we have to come to our jobs with a laser-like focus and take care of what’s important and eliminate what’s not, which has made both of us more efficient, more creative and more motivated.

This first year has not been easy. Joyful, yes. Easy? Not on your life. There has been an enormous learning curve for me and The Guy to overcome, and I’ve said more than once that, when we have another baby, I’ll feel kind of bad for Harper, because she’s the one who had to be the guinea pig. Every baby is different, so there’s no guarantee the next one will be smooth sailing, but having the first one is like riding a roller coaster in the dark; you never know what’s coming next. At least the next time around, we’ll have SOME idea what to expect. But Harper’s the one who made us parents, and because of that, she’ll always be special.

I’m so excited to see how she’ll grow and change and learn and develop in the next year. Yesterday, at Thanksgiving dinner with family, she more than held her own with her two- and four-year-old boy-cousins, so if I had to guess, I’d say we’re probably going to have more snails and puppydog tails than sugar and spice in our lives. And that’s just fine with me. It’d be great if she were a Girlus maximus like her mama, but if she’s not, then my five-year plan involves turning Harper Nell Powell into a spider-killing, attic-exploring, four-wheeler-riding machine. Which I am most definitely not. Although I did kill a spider yesterday to keep it from getting in her room. (If it had been anywhere else, I totally would have screamed, slammed the door, run away and waited for The Guy to get home. So yeah, I can unload a 9 mil into a splatter target with a pearly-white smile on my face, but smooshing a spider gives me the shivers for 45 minutes. Sue me.) So on top of everything else, Harper makes me brave.

She’s asleep at the moment, no doubt passed out face-down in her crib, drooling on her Winnie the Pooh doll that’s becoming more of a constant companion by the day, but when she wakes up, we’ll look at her Global Babies book that Linda and Elaine gave her (it’s the first thing besides Pooh that she wants every morning – I think she’s checking on them), cuddle her “Tiger Tail” (a little purple-and-yellow plush football with a striped tail attached), scatter blocks and maybe even rip up a fresh magazine (there’s very little Harper likes more than a brand-new, pristine magazine). She’ll babble to herself and say “Uh oh,” “BOOM!” “bo,” “I love you” (sort of), and, if I’m lucky, “good girl.” And that she is, my friends – a good girl. So I better go and fix another cup of coffee. It’s going to be a busy day.

Harper Thanksgiving 2012

Your candle-lighting
Kel

P.S. Want to see the many ways this nugget has grown and changed over her first year? Go here!

Menu Monday: The Guy Edition

The Guy and I were a leeeeetle busy this weekend.

MJ 2 WM RS

MJ 1 WM RS

Porter 2 WM RS

Molly 1 WM RS

Knox 1 WM RS

ET 1 WM RS

Rat 1 WM RS

Jacs 1 WM RS

EA 1 WM RS

EA 2 WM RS

LH 1 WM RS

LH 2 WM RS

There cannot possibly be one single person on Earth who loves her job(s) as much as I do.

But as you can imagine, we were pretty wiped by Sunday evening. Nevertheless, The Guy did me a solid and planned the menu for the week!

To be perfectly honest, I kind of figured it would look like this:

Monday: Wings
Tuesday: Beer
Wednesday: Taco Bell
Thursday: Quail gumbo
Friday: Scotch
Saturday: Steak
Sunday: Mashed potatoes

But I guess week after week of menu planning has rubbed off on him, because he did an excellent job of incorporating what we already have on hand, using up leftovers, taking into account our schedule this week and so on!

Color me tres impressed! So here it is:

Menu Monday: The Guy Edition!

Mon: Soup and sandwiches

Tue: Cajun Alfredo Pasta (I knew what he meant) – a lighter version using low-fat jarred alfredo sauce and whole-wheat pasta

Wed: Haley‘s coming over for dinner and The Guy has rehearsal (he’s in Miracle on 34th Street at Emmett Hook Center Nov. 30-Dec. 9!), so we’re having homemade pizzas!

Thu: Pan-Roasted Chicken With Lemon-Garlic Green Beans

Fri: Black-bean breakfast burritos (our own meatless version of these)

Sat: Sausage, Spinach and Tortellini Soup – one of our all-time favorites! We’ve played around with it a lot, and we prefer to omit the butter and use whole-wheat pasta.

Sun: Chili – The Guy’s own delicious concoction

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So here’s my question this week: When you were a kid, did you love Santa Claus, or were you terrified of him?

Your Santa-loving
Kel