Ho (exhale!) ho

They were dark blue, polyester, with rocket ships, red Saturns, stars that glowed at night and, best of all, non-skid material on the bottom of the feet guaranteed to grip the slickest hardwood floor.

Cindy's were the same, though green with beige dinosaurs -- T-rex, triceratops, brachiosaurus, teradactyl ... all of the most popular dino species.

Problem was, these footed pajamas were a kid's size "10 to 12."

"You gotta go put them on," ordered daughter Meghan, who with son Zach had conspired to package up the garments and leave them at our bedside so that we'd have to open them first thing Christmas morning.

Turnabout is fair play, I guess. Cindy's been getting the kids new sets of sleepwear every Christmas since they were small, this year included.

Except the kids have always welcomed their new threads. Ours clearly were intended to embarrass. They were multiple sizes too small, plus ... rocket ships and dinosaurs?!

"Go put them on!" the kids repeated.

Actually, we were OK with this. We've pulled enough pranks on Meg and Zach that we welcomed the challenge. Plus both Cindy and I are fans of Project Runway. At worst, we could cut the things apart and somehow hook them back together.

I volunteered to go first. I headed to the bathroom, needing some privacy. I held the blue suit up, measured it by sight and thought that I might ... just might ... be able to squeeze into it.

The pajamas were cleverly designed. A zipper stretched from the neck all the way down to the bottom of the left leg. (The right-leg portion of it dangled on its own.) So, to do this right, you had to put your foot into the right leg, then put your foot into the left, then put your arms into the sleeves, then slowly stand up straight while pulling the zipper up to your neck.

I imagined this is what divers with wetsuits must face. Or, actually, those Olympics swimmers with those new $600 bodysuits designed by NASA that envelop you like a second set of skin and take two days to put on. (I'd love to try out one of those.)

But ... it wasn't working. I could only pull the zipper up so far before it threatened to derail, like a train at a fork in the road forced to go both directions. I figured in order to get my arms in the sleeves and the zipper pulled, I'd have to be six inches shorter, double-jointed, and exhale every last molecule of oxygen from my lungs. Oh, plus be severely dehydrated.

Academically, I've never been a "physics" kind of guy. But I've learned by doing enough home projects that everything comes down to spatial relationships.

In this case, I thought that a variation of Einstein's "space-time continuum" might be coming into play: the amount of space in the garment, divided by my body mass, multiplied by the time it would take to shoe-horn me into it, equals its potential to self-destruct in a flash of torn seams, gaping rips and embarrassing after-shocks.

I think on the chalkboard it'd be something like this:

SDp = (v/m) x (t/kaboom)

... though I think a pi sign needs to go in there somewhere.

Time? Certainly, time was short: I wanted breakfast.

But space was the bigger issue. And the solution was obvious: I needed more.

So I called for some scissors and, with two quick snips, lopped off the pajamas' toes. I pushed my own toes through; the pajama's feet slid up to mid-calf. Now the non-skid material looked like low-down, white tail lights. I put my arms in the sleeves, stretched upwards and pulled the zipper home.

It fit!!

Okay, I felt like a Slim Jim still in the wrapper. But there are worse feelings.

Cindy also did her deed, the details of which she'll share on her own terms. She and I, though, posed for photos afterwards, then quickly shed our duds for blue jeans.

After all, you can only be a sausage for so long.

But we'd met the challenge.

I suspect the kids will come up with another surprise next year. And that's absolutely okay.

Because we will, too.  Count on it. 

It's electric!

Okay, so we were out looking at Christmas-light displays and we stopped by Vince & Associates on Metcalf Avenue. The display is an eclectic, electric mix of trees, houses, penguins (huh?), shooting stars, wrapped packages, Santa (of course), snowflakes and wreaths. Check it out. I think it's over the top, but fun to watch once a year.

The best way to view it is by parking high atop the parking lot of Emmanuel Baptist Church, across the street.

You tune in your radio and watch the lights dance to the tunes. Most of the songs are from Mannheim Steamroller, as you'd expect. But there are some non-holiday numbers inserted, too, which is kind of cool. I, for one, was introduced to "Sandstorm" by Darude for the first time. (I know ... where have I been?) Check out the 7 minute remix version ... imagine the lights with this one. 

Happy New Year all!