Well folks, it was a banner freakin’ year at the ol’ Dubois residence. We made it through another twelve months with a refined blend of caffeine, ibuprofen, Dewar’s with a hint of divine intervention. Wait - Maeghan just advised that was just Grandma Shelly, and not divine intervention. Although God is omnipresent, everyone I know has a key to our house now, so we can never be sure who to thank when we come home and the dishes have been put away... except that it probably wasn’t Regan.

Speaking of which, shortly after we gained a Hugo, our number two child (August 3rd), we lost a Regan (our temporary child by gift). Yes - we just had one boy, Hudson, a while back. And yes - we know how it happens now, and it’s not divine intervention, although I suspect God finds the whole situation pretty damn hilarious from time-to-time. Anyway, Uncle Regan left the house ingloriously in the midst of what appeared to be a Sunday hangover coupled with severe indigestion on an otherwise fresh fall day. Hudson was perplexed to find Uncle Regan shirtless, blanketless and curled into a ball on the front couch in the mid-morning sun, smelling of guinness, sweat and flatulence (commonly known as shame). While we were happy to have some extra space for the new guys, we certainly miss crazy Uncle Regan. He is doing well in his final year of Commerce at the U of S and he brings praise and honour to the family to offset any hint of shame.

And regarding the bringing shame to the family, Uncle Jason made a questionable move when he tossed a decked-out Aunty Jolene into the Hannen’s pool in Phoenix just after the crack of midnight on December 31st, 2011. Although Grandma Lynda takes some credit for instigating the affair, the episode inspired Randy Hannen, in a state of pure jubilation, to hurl her fully clothed figure into the pool behind them, complete with her cellphone. But as my darling wife pointed-out in an effort to assuage the damage, “It was just a Samsung.” The evening was a solid cap to a series of Phoenix-based festivities enjoyed by both of our families last holiday season.

And speaking of cell phones, I’m sure you’ve all heard about the Olympic cell phone theft from my wife that made national news a couple years back, that led to an undercover effort with the Vancouver police and a solid smack-down of the perpetrator. Well, we were robbed again in 2012 - our 2012 Chariot Cougar 2, purchased with our hard won dollars this spring to carry the expanded payload of our two guys, was taken from our garage this fall, along with a handful of other stuff. The police sent their finest 19 year-old rookie to “investigate” the theft, which investigation ended with, “We’re probably not going to do anything because we never really find anything.” That officer was obviously unaware of our previous crime fighting prowess.

First, Maeg picked-up the track of our Chariot at a children’s consignment store. My phonecall to the store got us further down the trail, such that the 19-year-old officer admitted to me that this was very exciting because this had “never happened to (her) before” and she further advised that “this (would) be an excellent learning experience”. I was armed with a serial number, some half-assed criminal law training and a belly full of anger to see this thing through. When the officer called back to advise that the store gave her some information about the person who brought the Chariot in, but that they didn’t want to provide any information about the subsequent purchaser, I got a little hot. It was clear this officer needed a little assistance and direction, so I did what I always do in a state of unbridled rage: I unleashed a strongly worded letter on the store. I advised them of how “the law” viewed their conduct and that I was content to sue them in the tort of conversion should they be unable or unwilling to provide the appropriate information. Two days later, the officer left me a voicemail advising that the store had provided her with all the information respecting the subsequent purchaser, and the video of the person who sold it to the store. We have since retrieved the Chariot and the deadbeat who sold it to the store has been charged with possession of stolen property. We don’t f&*%#ing tolerate thievery in our house... but we’ve got a bit of an issue with fire.

Grandma Shelly is pretty damn competent with all things child-oriented, and we consistently entrust her comfortably with the lives of our children, but it turns out we might want to take them to her house. A yam, which was intended to be a deliciously natural meal for the growing Hudder was placed in the microwave to cook whilst Grandma and Hudder played upstairs. Unfortunately, the yam continued to cook for a term of 45 minutes before it combusted inside the microwave sending a plume of toxic smoke throughout the house, which ultimately trashed the microwave and embedded the entire house with an ashtray-esque aroma. No one was injured, although Grandma’s pride has been slow to recover.

Several months later, once the smoke had cleared (it only took a couple months to be fair), Maeg thought to starting the fireplace on a cold winter morning. As she and our two guys went about their business, she suddenly caught a whiff of burning plastic. As she frantically looked for the cause, she saw visible smoke coming from the main floor, at which point she scrambled for her iphone (not a Samsung), and being unable to find it, fled into the street with the two guys yelling for help. Several strangers, and ultimately, the fire department responded, and our warring neighbour Cathy actually took Maeghan and the guys into her hostile territory. Several minutes later, a firefighter entered into Cathy’s and asked if Maeg was missing an iPhone, at which point, he produced a severely droopy iphone that had been melted on the top of the firebox behind the fireplace vent. Apparently, Hudder had been shoving things through the vent for some time. There was a reasonable collection of items surrounding the firebox. Fortunately, no drugs or porn were among Hudson’s fireplace bounty. I won’t tell you that we had recently fixed that same phone when Maeg drove over it. She got a whole new phone this time. It only took a couple weeks for the burnt plastic smell to disseminate - I’m sure that’s an Apple design feature.

And speaking of Maeghan causing trouble, did you hear about her ten day cruise with all the women in her mother’s family that left me with the task of weaning the Hudder? Think Trainspotting: heroin withdrawl scene insert Hudder for skinny guy and insert boob for heroin. That diddy earned me a long weekend in Banff with my law school cronies. How does 10 days of the Hudder, complete with the pain of weaning equal one three day weekend with the guys? I don’t know. I’ve never been strong at math - that’s why I went into law. Fortunately, with child number two, Maeg is pretty quick to bottle him now and then. Weaning him probably requires just a three day girl’s weekend in Vegas. However, I probably won’t earn enough plus-minus points for more than a night out on Broadway with Regan and the Mescall boys. I’m always running in the negative.

And speaking of running, did you hear that my wife ran the Bridge City Boogie when she was 7 months pregnant? Granted, she only did the 5K, stealing a WMCZ team shirt and bib from my colleague the morning of (it was raining pretty solid, and the colleague didn’t want to run). And she still managed to pull a better time than a bunch of my office folks. I had the Hudder in the old Chariot, and we did OK in the 10K, but Dad was clearly rusty. To be fair, I had to stop at one point to open Hudder’s protein bar (he hit’s the wall if he doesn’t get his fuel at 5K) - that caused us some issues. I was going to redeem us at the Outter Limits fun run at Elk Ridge in the fall, but Hugo got a rhino in his nose, which landed him (and us, by consequence) in the hospital for a fortnight (is that “four nights”, cause it kind of sounds like it... either way, it was four nights).

Poor Hugo got the full septic work-up as a result of a high fever, and when they couldn't find a cause, he was assigned to Aunty Jolene’s ward for a solid stay. We learned very quickly that the built-in counter ledge is almost precisely the same width as a standard Therm-a-rest camp mattress, which results in a functional, and even comfortable bed. At the end of the day, it seems that Hugo’s culprit was the standard Rhino-virus, or as you might know it, "a cold". But he was a pretty small guy at that point then with no vaccinations, so I guess it happens.

But we’ve been very lucky with grandparents, uncles and aunts at the constant ready to step-in when the guys get sick or when parents get lazy. Granpda Marcel constructed for Hudder a masterful sandbox on the same day that Hugo was born, and it’s sure to be a lasting sted for both boys, although Hudder has moved a good 50 pounds of sand from the box onto the lawn over the course of the fall. Of course, Hudder has a full compliment of John Deere equipment to farm his plot. But I have to say (Grandpa Grant/Uncle Morgan) that the purported “quality” of the John Deere product has not been imparted to the scale versions of the equipment. Have you seen the tractor with the missing hitch and the combine with the complete missing rear axle? I won’t say we’re considering changing colours, but if a red tractor showed-up, I’m not telling Hudder he can’t have it.

We feel that everyone around us is being promoted, winning professional awards and generally crushing the commercial world as of late. I regret to advise that Maeg is, once again, on maternity leave, and that I have no awards to show for my professional efforts, although I’ve got it on good authority that I’m not likely to be fired in the New Year, and no one has sued me thus far... so that’s something, right? But Maeg has implored that I at least mention that I was promoted to CFO of my firm. That’s Chief Fun Officer. It’s a very big responsibility and is highly regarded, although it resulted in no salary increase.... yet.

Anyway, all four of us are looking forward to a couple weeks in the Far West, just east of the Far East, better known as Hawaii. Grandpa and Grandma Dubois have decided to spend the farm to afford some time in the tropics with the next two generations. Maeg is excited because, for the first time in two years, and as far as we know, she won’t be pregnant for the birthday, New Years, and Anniversary trifecta... I presume she’ll have a mai tai or two. Really, it’s a bit of an affront to her Irish Catholicism, but I’m pretty tired, so I’m fine to spit in the face of the Church for a while, as we attempt to manage our current 2 under 2. If we had 3 under 3, I’m pretty sure I’d lose that CFO appointment right quick.

And speaking of tired, did I mention that we’re a little tired? I guess that’s to be expected. But you know, I wouldn’t necessarily say we’re any busier than anyone else. I’ve heard a lot about how busy people are in these parts. I’m not sure if we’re busy: we’re just tired. I don’t think we have particularly more or less to do than anyone else, but it’s tough enough just getting through each day with a couple of dependents in diapers, isn’t it? But then I think of all the single parents out there, and people without sufficient means to raise a family, and I think, man, we’ve got it pretty damn good. In fact, there are still small windows when we watch TV programs on the web now and then. And although we’ve spent approximately a year in self-righteous glory, announcing to all comers that “we don’t have TV”, we’re actually considering getting TV back in the new year. I know. We probably aren’t busy enough.

And speaking of being OK, we’re pretty happy about our general station in life. Although we lost Maeg’s Grandpa Lorne in 2012, he lived a long life full of love and service, and we can’t think of a better example to follow in our meagre household. We’ve got two healthy guys (well - Hugo runs fevers now and then, and Hudson is pale as a ghost in January, but Aunty Jolene assures us they’re healthy as Lance Armstrong sans steroids), a house that exceeds our station in life, supportive family and the best of friends in our own neighbourhood. Hudson has recently been requesting to go “home” regardless of where we are, and he gleefully exclaims, “Home!” as we round the alley to enter the garage. We will do our best to appreciate that while it lasts, because, one of these times, our house actually will catch fire.

Happy New Year everyone!

“Les Dubois”