This past Christmas (no longer "Break") went by very quickly. I blew into Cleveland for what was essentially a long weekend, late Wednesday night to Monday afternoon, and enjoyed a mixed bag of familial interaction. This was our first Christmas without Katie, as she and Andy drove down to Columbus to spend it with the Wheatons, and we were all pretty bummed. Actually, it occurs to me, this was my first Christmas ever without Katie. I'd like to think Mom and Dad will miss me as much, should I ever miss a Christmas, but seeing as how Dad was willing to cut off my head to fit the dog into our traditional "First Look at the Tree" picture, I'm guessing I'll have to settle for being their "favorite" child on non-holiday occassions (such as Tuesdays and Boxing Day).

I frolicked with family by day and friends by night, which culminated in Bill leading my quivering, moaning, hung-over self to Chipotle before safely depositing me on a plane back to Greensboro. I'm not sure why I crave suburban Mexican food when in such a state, but I assume it falls under the "Whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger" category of instincts. I flew back to Greensboro (insert hung-over moan here) for an in-plant holiday (which occurs whenever I'm at work but no one else is). My mentor was there, and in his words "I'm not your boss, but I'll tell your boss," so I had to put my roller derby plans on hold. I did get to wear jeans and watch people move heavy machinery, though, so the days flew by in a haze of enginerding glory. I then hoped on yet another plan to sunny Phoenix, Arizona, where most of my family (still sans Katie) was awaiting me, chips and salsa in hand. And yes, I did tip a bit of salsa onto the hot pavement for you, Katie. One for our homey.

In a burst of beneficence that changed Kevin's personal motto to "Dad, God, Country, Notre Dame," Dad arranged for us to attend the Fiesta Bowl. Despite the fact that we both purchased lucky sunglasses for the event, my eye-wear won the day. That, or Kevin's presentation of Touchdown Jesus as Street Performer jinxed the Irish big time. In any event, it got pretty uncomfortable in the stadium by the fourth quarter, and I was impressed by Kevin's ability to remain (relatively) calm. In reality he had just harnessed that rage for next weekend's cottage paintball extravaganza, during which he challenged Mr. Buckeye himself, Andrew Wheaton, to a bare chested paintball duel at 20 paces. After unloading on each other (Kevin got hit in the neck, but Andy just about lost a nipple), peace was restored to our family. Until next football season, that is.