Because, without complaint, he ran me around to THREE DIFFERENT BOOKSTORES today in search of a 2007 Harry Potter desk calendar — despite my confession that my need for this item stems at least in part from my perverted Rupert Grint love jones.

You’re a peach, honey. In return, I promise not to complain of feeling icky all over the next time I wake up to catch you watching softcore on cable in the dead of night.

Query: Is it some sort of perversion for a girl of a certain age to dream all night of making out with a certain red-haired actor nearly 30 years her junior? I swear to God, Officer, I only kissed him — we never got to second base. But I am here to tell you that kissing like that should be illegal in thirty-two states and the District of Columbia.

The event is, of course, not without precedent. Some 30 years ago, I spent a similar evening in the back seat of someone’s Chevy with a sweet red-haired boy, and as you can see, it bent me for life. Luke Daley: this is ALL YOUR FAULT.

December 26, as you know, is the feast of St. Stephen, as memorialized in the old Christmas carol Good King Wenceslas. Our friends across the pond, such as newly minted Londoner Rebecca, know this date as Boxing Day. There are various explanations for the origin of the name.

In the Crumpacker household, however, Boxing Day refers to the December 26 activities of two young brothers who, despite having each received a cornucopia of toys the day before, invariably come to blows over the one small action figure which they both, simultaneously and ardently, absolutely MUST HAVE.

Hope y’all had a happy Christmas.

It’s Christmas Day at the Crumpacker home, and the kids are busily engaged with the torrent of toys and games they unwrapped this morning. Grandma was visiting yesterday, and she brought a number of gifts as well. After a Christmas Eve dinner of lamp chops, we gave the boys permission to open a couple of presents each; I mean, what could we do? They were so anxious for Santa to come, I thought they would implode.

The gift selected by Sam turned out to be three Leap Pad cartridges: Madagascar, Finding Nemo, and Disney/Pixar’s Cars. Now, I don’t know if you’re acquainted with many boys of five and a half, but I am here to tell you that Sam is way too cool for stuff like that. He’s into Pirates of the Caribbean, and space aliens, and skeletons and dead guys. He outgrew Disney cartoons a good two, three years ago. He was visibly disappointed; and then, to add the icing to the cake, he looked his grandma right in the eye and exclaimed,

This present SUCKS.

To Grandma’s credit, she handled the situation with aplomb. Well, Sam, she told him, as the years go by you’ll probably end up receiving a lot of Christmas presents that you think “suck.”  And I chimed in, And you’ll also find that it’s not considered polite to come out and SAY they suck.

Thanks to the magic of Toys R Us gift receipts, this week Sam and I will go turn over the Leap Pad cartridges and select replacements, which I predict will be: more Pirates of the Caribbean action figures. As for Grandma, she has learned the hard way that for a boy of five and a half, educational toys rank right down there with socks and underwear as Christmas gifts.

I’ve been a bit flummoxed of late for something about which to write. It was determined a long time ago, back in the days of the Mr. Baby Blog, that our readers (all three of them) should not be subjected to endless ramblings about the Crumpacker kids, and even so I’ve done a fair bit of that, here of late. So what to write, what to write? We’re taking requests.

I will leave you, however, with the first bit of dating advice given by big brother Sam to little brother Matt:

Matt. You’ve GOT to take a bath. If your butt smells, the girls won’t date you.

And I think we can all agree on that.

(1) I wore my rabbit fur coat to a vegetarian restaurant last night, right before the Jenny Lewis concert. The coat was in honor of Jenny’s album; but good gravy, did I get the stink-eye. I’m lucky I didn’t have paint poured on me.

(2) Please, please pray for the safe return of James Kim, who is lost in the Oregon woods while his wife and small daughters wait to hear whether they’ll have much for which to be thankful this Christmas.