There Are Twelve Days Until Christmas

We are twelve days away from Christmas, and our home is one of those that looks like a tree-hugging hostel, where guests can sleep at ease, knowing that no Balsam Fir has gone to its death, wrapped in a burial cloth of colored lights.  We have nary a single red or green bulb burning over here, no Christmas goose being fattened up at the last minute, no gifts for four family members, and no silver wrapping paper.

In other words, feel free to pin pictures of us under HOW TO DISAPPOINT YOUR CHILDREN, WITH LESS THAN TWO WEEKS TO GO UNTIL CHRISTMAS.

Of course, we HAD us some plans to get a tree this last weekend, in the usual way.  This is where we traipse, as a family, to the local Christmas tree lot.  I then proceed to look at any number of trees that have their branches folded tightly against their trunks and are wrapped in mesh, trying to picture it in my house.  Too big?  Too full?  To string-beany?  You can never tell when they’re wrapped in mesh.  It’s a game of Russian Roulette.  I then proceed to hold the tree aside for Hubs to look at, so that I can get HIS opinion, but listen:  Hubs’ opinion on a tree from a tree lot is ALWAYS, without fail, “I DON’T CARE.”

Do you like this one?  I DON’T CARE.

What about this one?  I DON’T CARE.

Does this one look to full for our living room?  I DON’T CARE.

Hubs’ idea of securing a Christmas trees involves a chain saw, snowshoes and a thermos filled with Schnapps, because that’s the way the pioneers did things.  My idea of a Christmas tree involves Walmart and the phrases PRE-LIT and NO PINE NEEDLES ON THE FLOOR TO GOUGE THROUGH YOUR SOCKS AND IMPALE  YOUR HEEL.  The tree lot is our middle ground.

And now?

Well.

Let me tell you about now.

I have an eye infection.  It’s exactly the kind of eye infection you might expect from a backwoods girl, who rents a trailer, styles her hair with bacon grease, and hasn’t decorated the place for Christmas by December 13th.  My eye is currently the size of a golf ball, and the color of a nice Christmas plum.  Any hopes of us venturing out tonight to get a tree will be fruitless, because I can only see out of one eye.  I’m on an antibiotic that can kill an elephant, and I have enjoyed the day hopping back and forth between the urgent care clinic, the lab for a blood draw, the pharmacy, and my sofa, where I did my level best to keep that horse pill in my gut and not barf it all over the place.

Hi.  My name is Mama.  Do you come to this blog often?  I should warn you that we just tell it like it is around here.

Hubs continues to suffer from the worst sinus congestion to ever hit the free world, which means he’s up throughout the night, coughing and hacking and gagging and declaring that death might be easier than trying to breathe.  He’s exactly as quiet as the Army, when they start 3,000 tanks up and drive across the desert to take target practice for training.

So yeah.

That’s about all that’s going on around here these days.

How are things with you?

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