Christmas came and went.

Enjoy the following photo-tage of Christmas morning at the Happens residence. You can also see the following photos and more on my flickr page HERE.

Baby James coolin' out on Christmas Eve.

Berlin demonstrating the health benefits of baking over frying. PS: She now holds a cooking class every Tuesday and Thursday evening from 6-8pm in her playroom in our basement. Admission is a pack of Backyardigan Fruit Snacks.

Lil' Jamison Harper playing with his peek-a-block train just moments before big sister decided to claim it as her own by adding it to her stockpile of presents from Santa.

Us dudes of the house have to stick together. And what can unite us more than matching beanies sent from grandma and grandpa in New Zealand?

After a long morning of opening gifts, Berlin decided to show us how her gift was the gift that keeps on giving by preparing us a fine breakfast of wooden cheese, milk, eggs and assorted fruit.

Behold, the holidays are upon us.

Check out this SITE we recently helped create for Office Max through a righteous agency in NYC called TOY.

The following apologies are applicable as of the night of November 28th.

Mrs. Steve Happens (Hailey). I'm sorry.

I'm sorry that I'm such a deep sleeper.

I'm sorry the garage door that we use to get in and out of the house decided to malfunction, thus not allowing your usual entry late Tuesday night.

I'm sorry it was only six degrees outside that night.

I'm sorry you didn't wear a coat.

I'm sorry you were wearing heels.

I'm sorry the key you had didn't work either.

I'm sorry I didn't hear you pounding on the door for forty minutes.

Or the 27 missed calls to my cell phone.

Or the other 27 missed calls on our home phone.

I'm sorry our neighbor came outside to let his dog out. And in doing so, saw you crying.

I'm sorry he had to hear my name associated with so many select profanities.

I'm sorry you broke your cell phone.

From throwing it violently at our second-floor bedroom window.

I'm sorry it took a good five hucks to startle me from my deep sleep.

(Again, I'm sorry I'm such a deep sleeper.)

I'm sorry that by the time I finally woke up and let you in, your toes were a deep purple.

And your fingers had lost all sense of feeling.

I'm sorry I had the ceiling fan on in our bedroom, strictly for quintessential comfort.

I'm sorry I fell back into the arms of Morpheus within minutes.

I'm sorry that I'm bald and "filling out a bit in the face."

It'll never happen again.



'cept for the bald part.