Trim a Tree, Embrace the Crazy

Did I mention I love Christmas?  As in, everysinglething about it?
Well, I do.
I love the music, lights, decorations, being with family/friends, the gift giving/receiving and the food. 
I am speaking of Christmas cookies.

I come by this adoration naturally, as my dad lives for Christmas.  It is his most favorite time of the year, as it is mine.  Growing up Christmas was a really big deal in our house.  Just like it is in my own, now.

He grew up in a house where my grandpa would spend ALL DAY on Christmas Eve working on the tree from behind french doors covered with newspapers so the 3 boys could not peek.  It was unveiled to them on Christmas morning, complete with a real Lionel train going around the base, mercury globes, bubble lights that really bubbled! and real tinsel hanging from most every branch.  Oh, and lots of presents!
I have only seen b/w pictures of this tree but it brings to mind a Norman Rockwell scene straight out of a magazine.  Magical.  Stunning.  What kids imagine when they dream of Christmas.

So my dad bumped the date up a bit but we never had our tree up any earlier than December 15th.  He would spend an hour on a tree lot, picking the perfect one.  Symmetrical, full and tall.  Sometimes too tall.  Hence, the wood shavings on our living room floor every year.
He then would bring it home and spend an ENTIRE DAY just doing the lights. 
I simply cannot emphasize enough to the average person just how important the lights are.  He usually has about 800 lights on his tree and you better believe there is some serious POTTY TALK going on to get it done.  My dad has a mouth on him that would make a sailor blush sometimes but truly, he is in his full glory while decorating the Christmas tree.  If you have met the man, you can imagine what this scene must sound like.

The next day is for the ornaments.  He collects them and has inherited some beautiful ones from my grandma so this is an ordeal.  As kids we would sometimes switch 2 around, just to test him.  And by God, he would come right behind us, curse under his breath and put them back in their proper places. 

Then, the garland.  In the 70's it was either gold or silver "furry" stuff.  My, how he wresteled worked with those long-ass streams of shine, for what seemed like hours.  They had to hang just so or he got all pissy.  Now he just does red bows, which still can bring on a bit of wrestling on the higher branches.

So by day 4 we had us a tree.  A huge, bright, beautiful Christmas tree that is still the tree of my Christmas ideals.  As children, we only had a few battle scars on us, watching the decorating drama unfold.  Nothing a little therapy couldn't cure later in life.

So now I am the adult, picking the perfect tree for my little people.  Making memories, people.
This is where I embrace the crazy. 
I go a teensy-bit crazy when decorating...just like my old man.  God Love Him.

The tree has to meet certain imaginary standards that I carry with me.  This could take a while, picking a tree.  No "holes", gaps or other unsightliness?  Check.  At least 7 feet?  Check.  Smell-fresh test?  Check.
I have to have the lights JUST RIGHT and have been known to rip them off the tree and start all over again on multiple occasions because it didn't glow from the inside-out. 
I collect vintage ornaments and guard them with my life, if need be.  This makes it a tad bit dicey with small children around.  I try often to remind myself that it is more important that the children not cut their little fingers than it is to cherish for another year, that beautiful vintage mercury glass ornament that it took me 3 years of scouring antique shops for.  Bitter, party of one?  Not here, my friend.

I will admit to cursing under my breath AND outloud, noticing when ornaments have been messed with and adjusting the tree skirt too many times.  I will also admit to blasting Christmas music, making too many sugar cookies and having Christmas decorations on anything that can't move.
See?  Embrace the crazy and move on.  Merry Christmas.

If All Else Fails

I love Christmas.  Way more than is probably healthy or necessary, but there you go.
I would really, really loovvee to have a super sweet picture of all three of my little people TOGETHER to put in our annual Christmas card.  I want this for a few reasons.
1.  To commemorate another fantastic holiday together (just like the commercials, people)
2.  To showcase their uber-cuteness
3.  To prove to nay-sayers than I CAN get organized enough to send out cards in a timely fashion
4.  To prove to myself that I can get the shot. 
As in, the picturethatcomeswiththeframeyoubuywhereeveryoneisSOpretty shot.  That one.

When my older 2 got off the bus from school the other day, I had treats and goodies for them.  Small festive boxes for each laden with seasonal pencils, silly bands, candy, puzzles, etc.  You get the idea.

Putting on my best 1950's mom voice, I told them we were going to a new park! with lots of rocks and trees to climb!, a creek and even a bridge!  Snacks will be on hand!

Within 5 minutes of getting there Agent P dropped a diaper bomb, GoGo informed she needed to pee but refused to do so outside (since when does she have inhibitions?) and D ran off to climb rocks unattended.
I could tell this was going to be tricky.  I could also feel another Christmas card like last year's coming, with 3 separate pictures because getting all of my little people together in one would be humanly impossible. 
And drive me to drink more Blue Moon.

So begins another cycle of bribery in my house...creeks! trees to climb! candy! trinkets! more candy!  And oh, by the way...we're taking Christmas card pictures today.  And maybe again next week.
Oh, I can feel the holiday joy already. 
It will be a regular LOVEFEST.

Snippets

Wrapped up a delightful first field trip with GoGo last week.
Conversations amongst 5-year old girls are both hilarious and unbelievable.

Friend to GoGo: "I like your headband."
GoGo to Friend: "Thanks, I like yours too, today."
Friend to GoGo: "I like holding your mom's hand. She's nice."
GoGo to Friend: "I don't like you."

WTF

Agent P and I met some horses we just had to chat with...she through the window of the van and me through my lens. Wish I had just one more acre to add a horsey to...

Trying hard not to over-do the Christmas spirit too early around here. I haven't put one single thing up but we have been jamming to Christmas music for a while now (say, 3-4 months off and on) and we are scheduled for a Christmas movie double-feature tomorrow night. I hate to see the decorations and lights up in stores before Thanksgiving but for some reason the same doesn't apply to my own home. Go figure.

D made an Advent wreath at Faith Formation last night and begged me to stop at Target on the way home to "buy the special little candles that go inside".
I had to remind him that Advent hasn't started yet and you can't just run around lighting things on fire all willy-nilly. I clearly got the "Whatever, Mom" look. Go figure.

GoGo attempted to self-decorate by using markers creatively on not only her own skin, but the skin on her sweet face. She made a peace sign on each cheek (Daddy thought it was a pentagram at first but further inspection concluded it was indeed a sign of peace), 2 hearts on either side of her forehead and a big red dot in the middle.
Why the dot, you may wonder? According to GoGo it is what "Indians wear".
D informs her it is most certainly NOT what they wear. Oh, contraire, my friend. It is what "Indian girls wear". How she came by this particular piece of information, I simply have no idea.
Apparently my children are far more multi-cultural than their parents AND far more than we have ever given them credit for.

The power of public school?

Secrets and Q&A

Question and answer sessions between myself and D...

Me: Did you and J have fun playing today?
D: Yeah, we played Boy Scouts.
Me: Oh yeah? Were you teaching her about what Boy Scouts do?
D: Yeah, we cut down a tree. A small one.
Me: You did? With what?
D: A baseball bat. A metal one. Then we planted it in a pot for her mom.
Me: Okay, then. Well done.

D: Is Clyde selling his house or just his basement?
Me: What??
D: The for sale sign says BASEMENT-is that all that's for sale?
Me: No, it's the whole kit and kaboodle.
D: WHAT??

Secrets my girls have...

GoGo whispers frantically to me as I am putting her to bed: Mom! Mom! You can't tell ANYONE this!
Me: Ok, what?
GoGo: It's a SECRET!
She smiles really big.
Me: Ok, what is it?
GoGo: Justin BEAVER is my boyfriend!!
Me: Justin Who?
GoGo: BEAVER! But don't tell anyone!
Me: It's in the vault.
GoGo: WHAT?

Agent P: Lets a man-size belch fly and then giggles to herself.
Her own little secret as to why.

Scared Yet?

I am. Both of these scare the Buh-Jeezus out of me, but for very different reasons.

This one scares me for how ridiculously cute she is. Also a bit scary is that someone mistakenly identified her as a squirrel. Ewok, people, Ewok.

Scary-sad that I finally got the 3 together and this is the end result.

He's a Ghostbuster-of course this one is scary!!