When I got home from the ski slopes, like most parents, my wife wanted to sleep for a while. After that we went out to choose our Christmas tree. I always have mixed feeling about Christmas trees. I wish you could have one without killing it every time. I know they are farmed and everything, but still, you get all excited because it looks like there's a mini-forest full of carnies on every city corner, you select your special Noble Fir and some dude straps it to the roof of your car. You drive home and get a faceful of needles as you grab the icy trunk and carry it into the house. It's "beat the clock" to get it in water, you spin it around in tiny increments for about three rotations trying to find the best side to display and get it straight. Then you bind it with lights and garlands and burden it with ornaments. Caress it a few times while it is soft and fragrant before the rigor mortis sets in and it becomes a crispy Christmas Eve fire hazard.
The first lot we visited had reindeer and a Santa Claus who explained to our kids how none of the reindeer could fly until he fed them their "Christmas Corn." It turns out Rudolph is allergic to the Christmas Corn. He eats a little and his nose turns red. He eats a lot and it glows like a blinkin' beacon. Maybe we should have turned Santa in to PETA, but it's Christmas so instead I put a dollar in his tip jar. They didn't have the tree for us so we went elsewhere.
When we found the right one, our two-year-old decided to test the tree by seeing how many ornaments she could hang in one place. It looks plain in the pics but we hung some stockings and got a poinsettia. It's coming together.
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