Every year Justin and I get a Christmas tree to decorate with hilarious ornaments [pickles, olives, guitars, dragons], pile a slightly disturbing amount of capitalistically glorifying gifts under, to sit around with cups of hot coco [in our dreams], and for the kits to gaze at from afar and from very very close.
The big ones.
The babes.
Every year I try to convince him to get a big tree. You know, the kind that barely fit in the house and it takes a ladder and two people to string lights around. Big, fluffy, joyfully bearing gifts... just like Santa.
Making a valiant effort to prove the awesomeness of the mid-sized beauts.
Fail.
Every year he falls in love with the baby trees. Such a bleeding heart he has. And I always agree. [This is somewhat due to the rahdik price tags at those independent tree lots - go to Lowe's people.]
Mind made up.
Welcome Pinelope Grace Spruceford, of the Needleburrough Sprucefords.
Photos of tree in casa to come.
Happy Holidays! XO
3 comments:
Probably my fav. post so far. Justin and the tree remind me of the Charlie Brown's tree....My tree on the other hand is tall but falling apart.....
one year my mother's big tree was broken on the trunk, about halfway up. that was an interesting year for the ole tree.
ahahah really? 2 years ago we got our tree at the last minute and we ended up with a great price but a tree that was very Charlie Brown. This year we have a crying tree bc the branches are sagging like old boobs... I think I need to export an Italian xmas tree next year....
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