Another 27 for 27 item done: cutting down a Christmas tree (insert three evergreen emojis here).
Last weekend we ate our turkey, partook in the most mild Black Friday shopping I have ever been a part of, and headed back to Apple Hill to cut down a Christmas Tree. Now, I have to admit that I don't give Thanksgiving enough credit. I can't really get that into it, and this year I especially saw it as the checkered flag that waved and gave me permission to start celebrating Christmas (finally). Actually, Thanksgiving was kind of getting in my way when it came to Christmas. I mean, I know you're not supposed to decorate for Christmas before the turkey has been made into sandwiches and the football games and dog shows have been watched. I knew this, yet I put out my "BE MERRY" doormat. I left my fall wreath up, and in my mind this was a valid justification for the Christmas decorations that were sneaking their way in. Now I'm taking no prisoners with my Christmas spirit. Give me all the Santas and snowmen! All the Christmas books! All of the Thomas the Tank Engine and Curious George Christmas movies. We may or may not have watched Shrek the Halls last night. We have a serious festive problem.
SOOOO... after the Turkey had been eaten and the cheap memory cards had been purchased on Black Friday, we moved on to picking out a Christmas tree.
This tree farm was the cutest of all the tree farms in the land. Rows and rows of trees that begged to be touched and sized up. Trees that beg for you to run your fingers through their branches and smell their sap on your hands. Trees that were not much taller than Sage to trees that Sage could probably hollow out and live in. Then, there were the trees that were not much taller than my boot and were at risk of being stepped on. These were the chihuahuas of the tree lot -- you're sure someone probably wants them, but you just can't really picture who.
It had been sprinkling rain, and the trees were damp and smelled even better than I could have imagined. By the end of the trip Sage's pants were soaked from brushing the branches as he walked through the lot. Soggy pants and muddy boots. I think that just might be the recipe for a happy two-year-old boy right there.
After scaling up the trees and narrowing it down to a couple of possible trees, we came upon a tree that stood out and could not be compared with any other tree around it. It was a tree that was perfectly full, perfectly shaped, and didn't have one weird bare spot that would have to go against the wall. This tree was perfect from every angle. Clearly the owners of the tree farm knew this one was one of a kind, because they had placed a tag on the tree informing us that it was more than the other trees in the lot. It was instant tree love and I just did the dang thing. I bought one of the most expensive trees in the lot. The signs had told us to yell "CUTTER!!" at the top of our voice when we had found the tree of our dreams and a 20-year-old would come over and chop the tree down for us. We did not choose to follow the rules, and instead the tree cutter was fetched on foot using our inside voices. Yelling to him felt too much like whistling to a waitress in a restaurant. We just couldn't do it.
And thus begins the story of our Christmas tree, whose name is Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis and whose description will be saved for another day. She is lighting up our front room and giving us all kinds of Christmas spirit.
^^ This is the picture of my dreams that is too blurry to post but I am posting anyway. My blog, my rules. :)
^^ Green on green on green on green.
^^ The girls working gave Sage a candy cane to eat while we watched them wrap the tree, and I think Sage could sit there all day eating their candy canes and watching trees go through that tube. Add sticky fingers to the recipe for a happy two-year-old boy.