The advent season was off to an excellent start. Not one of the carefully made advent envelopes had been opened. No tree had been procured. And it was December 4th.
Something had to be done.
The professor enjoys the pomp and circumstance of cutting down one’s own tree. Whether at a tree farm or in the Calgarian forest. And I enjoy it too, especially in retrospect. Once my fingers have thawed and my ears have stopped ringing.
But this year I had my doubts about getting a live tree in an elaborate-ritual sort of way. The days fly by, each day seemingly fuller than the one before it. And we’ve got a baby. And we’re tired. And……it’s snowing?
When we woke up this morning there were just enough flurries bouncing around in the air to justify having hot chocolate at breakfast. ‘What if we just get a tree from a lot this year,’ I suggested to the patriarch. Because at the rate we were going it would end up being mid-December before we actually had a tree in the house. The gimpy-footed professor relented. Even he thought walking around in the freezing forest looking for a suitable tree sounded like a bad idea.
So we got in the car-van and made our way to the tree lot near the Gort’s school. The professor walked across the street to get cash while we waited in the car; taking in the majestic trees leaning against each other…in a snowy parking lot. Not how nature intended, perhaps, but man was it convenient.
With cash in our possession, we jumped out of the van, asked for the cheapest and smallest tree. Selected one of the five that met the criteria. Snapped a couple of pictures, and got back in the van within eight minutes.
The small tree fit perfectly inside the van’s ‘trunk’ – no rope required this year. We could even go to Wal-mart afterwards without fear that someone would steal this prime pine specimen from the roof of our car.
This year, I didn’t even care. ‘Agh, we’ll just push it back into the corner. It’s fine,’ I muttered. A perfectionist through and through. But luckily the professor cared and with a bit of finagling managed to straighten it out somewhat.
The boys had a blast digging through the decoration bins. And I had a blast trying to keep them out of said bins. Given the size of the tree and how much I loathe un-decorating the tree in January, I only took about half of the ornaments out of the bins. The half that deserves to see daylight, frankly, because the other half is fairly n-a-s-t-y.
‘When are we going to open the first envelope’ my oldest inquired later in the day. ‘We can do it tonight when daddy gets home,’ I replied. Little did he know the first envelope should have been opened….three days ago. But when Jason got home we were engrossed in coloring and forgot all about the envelope.
‘Are you going to give that to my teacher?’ the Gort asked as I was coloring my page. ‘Uh, sure…I bet she’d love to get a Diego coloring from me,’ I replied. ‘Should Daddy give her his Diego?’ I asked. ‘No……it’s not much nicer,’ came the undiplomatic reply. Apparently the Gort is not a fan of Diego with red and yellow hair.
Do they make adult-friendly coloring books? Because coloring ‘therapy’ is pretty enjoyable. But I don’t think I have it in me to do another Diego. Or Tinkerbell, for that matter.