The Grinch

We usually get our Christmas tree the weekend after Thanksgiving. It involves a family motorcade up to a farm on Larch Mountain where we all tromp through the mud until we have found The Perfect Tree. It gets cut down and tossed into my father-in-law's trailer along with everybody else's tree, and then we all head back down the mountain for something warm to drink and to play cards. Good times.

This year, otherwise known as The Year Of The Toddler, I suggested to my husband that we should skip the whole Christmas tree thing. As appealing as spending my day guarding the tree and saying "don't touch that" fifty times may seem, I really have better things to do. Like laundry. And every year, America's Funniest Home Videos does a montage of toddlers pulling trees down onto themselves and I thought that this was a case where we could learn from others' misfortune.

My suggestion was met with much rending of garments and gnashing of teeth. From my husband. You would have thought I had told him that Santa was really a crack dealer or something.

My toddler, on the other hand, took the news in stride: "Tree? No tree. Soccerball?" At 19 months she already exhibits emotional stability and good adaptability, which will take her far when trying to survive growing up in this family.

My husband continued to argue his case, which basically came down to "I neeeeeeed to have a tree." While obviously heartfelt, I remained unconvinced.

Fortunately for him, I was shopping yesterday and found a perfect tree:

For some reason, he was not as impressed as I thought he would be. But, bringing the tree home got me into the spirit to "Deck the Halls". Took me less than 30 minutes. It was fantastic! And no pine needles to vacuum up.

Hey Santa! We are ready for you!