So. We put up our Christmas tree yesterday. I had envisioned a trek through the woods with my family, the girls so cute wrapped up in their snowsuits, to find the perfect tree. My manly man of a husband would cut down said tree and drag it back to the car, where he would effortlessly throw it on the roof and secure it.
This year, my husband is performing in a show that's been extended to run over Christmas and New Year's (YAY!/BOO!) so there was no trek. We've barely got one day a week with all of us together, so decided that we'd forgo the trek in the woods. Instead, we hauled our borrowed bunch of wires and green ... stuff masquerading as a tree down from an attic. When we got it installed, Baby B was suitably impressed - being 1 and 1/2, she doesn't remember the last time we had a tree (fake or otherwise) in the house. Big B... not so much. Poor kid had to wait while I pulled the decorations out of the garage, brushed the squirrel nest off and then wiped it down with lysol until the disturbing smell of squirrel (raccoon? rat?) pee dissipated.
We finally opened the boxes and found... mugs. Many Christmas mugs. Not so many decorations though. Then I remembered that in a fit of crazy when we were taking down the tree last year I decided that I'd like to have a tree that only had handmade ornaments on it and got rid of anything commercial.
Although it's sparse, and the lights are too bright (what is UP with these new lights?? I'm not driving the tree through the deserted countryside at night...) and we haven't got many decorations - I love the tree. Despite the faint pee smell, it's fabulous. Almost everything on there is something made by myself or Big B, or kitschy little fimo things with our names on them.
And now I will spend the next three weeks defending our poor "tree" from the children.
Oh. I'm the crazy person.