A two-year-old with an axe. What could possibly be scary about that?
Or that.
Or that. (Of course, a pretty teenage daughter is scary with or without weaponry)
As you may have surmised, Daddy and these three went out hunting wild Christmas trees this weekend. The one they bagged fit perfectly into the space we had carved out. Best of all, Mommy and Logan got to stay home in the nice, warm house. (Note to self: Make sure to always have a baby around at Christmas time.)
Several people have made comments about our fence. We've been doing this for so long, I can't remember having a tree without barriers. Wait, yes I can: the year my mother made popcorn-and-gumdrop strings for our tree. I was about seven. Very pretty. The red gumdrops disappeared first. By Christmas, there were just a few yellow ones here and there. Darn mice.
At any rate, if you are going to have a live tree in a house with dogs, there is always the danger that a dog will say: hey, look, a live tree! Have I mentioned my new carpet? And then there are toddlers and shiny objects. Bad combination. We Santa generally doesn't put presents under the tree until Christmas night, when YOU HAD BETTER BE ASLEEP AND NOT FAKING IT AND NO, YOU ALREADY WENT POTTY AND YOU ARE NOT GETTING UP AGAIN.
We eventually even got it decorated.
You know the really scary part about the whole weekend? Daddy did all the lights. Voluntarily. He also did lights outside. All over. Daddy doesn't DO lights - or any other Christmas decorations. You've seen the cartridge in a bare tree, right? Now he's talking about putting lights on his truck!!! That can only mean one thing: quite simply, the end of the world as we know it. (And as you know, M., the end of the world can only mean...ZOMBIES! Happy dreams, sweetheart.)
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