For a change, we have spent the past few days just living our lives instead of posting about them.

But now some photos have piled up, and it seems fitting to share.

The weather was so nice the other day, we headed to the playground. The yellow playground. The one with the really steep slide.

No problem for Alden.

No problem for Kato.

No problem for Cousin Orin.

And, in spite of my initial hesitation, no problem for me.

Then Robbi got in on the act.

Then everyone got in on the act. At the same time.

I’m pretty sure we broke about half of the playground rules.

But we were having a holiday, so it was all right.

No harm, no foul.

The fun continued as we celebrated my 38th birthday.

With only two short years remaining before the onset of old age, I felt compelled to tap the last remaining repository of youthful verve by modeling my gifts—day-glow running garb and remote control, hip-mounted grill thermometer system.

August was entranced, and why not? Two years from now, when I’m to old and broken to roast meat over an open flame, he will probably inherit it.

Or perhaps he was reflecting fondly on a recent milestone of his own: his graduation from the jogging stroller and first ride on the front of the bike.

Late last week, I took the kids to Baltimore for my office holiday party. We stopped at Dunkin Donuts on the way.

At the party, Alden discovered the pleasures of chocolate fondue and added an innovative twist.

Apparently, chocolate-dipped broccoli is all the rage in Baltimore this holiday season.

While Alden indulged in the finer things, Kato got his jingle on.

Back home, we made Christmas cookies.

Among the many shapes in our cookie cutter bag—hearts, snowflakes, Christmas trees, dinosaurs, witches, etc—are the M, R, and barn sent our way by our friend Virginia.

Soon they will be hanging on the tree.

A yearly tradition of mine is cleaning out the fridge. Starting out the New Year with the illusion of order.

Yesterday, we went down to the Chester and played with cat tails.

It was the closest we’re going to get to snow this Christmas, I fear.

Those are the highlights. The lowlights include many shots of us stuffing our faces and lying around groaning afterward. I’d include photos of our holiday excesses, but certain scenes are better left to the imagination, I say.