We put up our tree last weekend, and I love pulling down all the boxes of ornaments and remembering what each of them mean. There are a handful from my childhood that my parents have given to me over the years, that always bring back memories of snowy Christmas mornings in Northern Nevada and the childhood innocence of believing in Santa and putting out cookies and waking up a God awful hour to wake up everyone else in the house to open presents. And there are the ornaments I collected by myself through my early college years, and then the ones that me and S bought together in the early years of our relationship. We have figurines that look like our dogs, from the days when we considered them our children. There is one from the first Christmas we spent as a "couple" and then one from our first on as a married couple. There is a one from our first rental house together, and one from our current home, the first home we have ever owned. And, of course, there are about 10 million "baby's first Christmas" ornaments that we either bought or were given last year for L's first Christmas. The point is, I like to go though each one, as I attach them to their hangers and put them on the branches, and remember where I was at the point in my life. And I especially like thinking about all the ornaments to come, all the memories that will be collected.
(By the way? That cute baby in the picture? Totally not L. I just haven't had time to put in his picture yet. And, anyways, L is cuter!)
Every year, when we go to get the tree, I try to convince S that our ceilings are in fact 12 feet high and we should get the largest, tallest tree on the lot. And every year he fights back and manages to pick a tree that, while it looks huge and amazing in our livingroom, also manager to fit perfectly and leave just enough room for the star on top.I don't know how he does it, but it's the same story every year.
We also participated in the age old tradition of visiting Santa Claus. Last year when we did this L was about 3 months old and we got an adorable picture of him on Santa's lap. This year? It was an epic failure. I had high hopes, as L was all smiles as we waited in line, taking in the sights and the crowds and the sounds.
But once we placed him on Santa's lap? Meltdown! He was not having it. So instead of an adorable picture like last year, we got the classic picture of a toddler screaming on Santa's lap. Oh well, I guess you have to have one of those, right?
(Please excuse the quality of this picture. It is a picture of a picture, as I was not about to pay $40 dollars for the USB port of my child being traumatized by Santa. And the elf lady was crazy serious about nobody taking pictures in "Santa's Den". Like,I think she might have tackled me if I tried.)
Also, while getting into the full Christmas spirit, I decided to attempt to build a gingerbread house. Let me be the first to warn everyone: the gingerbread house kit sold at Bed Bath and Beyond for $9.99 is complete...... how do I put this nicely?...... I can't. It's complete crap. The frosting is so thick and sticky but it won't stick to the gingerbread, only to my fingers and clothes and anything else it comes in contact with. After almost an hour of fighting with the darn thing I manager to get up the basic structure of the house and then I gave up. I was expecting to have a lovely gingerbread house to display festively on our kitchen table, much like the picture on the box.
Instead? I got this.
But, oh well. Christmas is still in full swing in our household, and you should brace yourself for pretty much every post over the next 12 days to be about nothing but Christmas and how magical it is to me. (Ha, ha, the 12 days of Christmas!) I will try to refrain to much from overly cheese and dramatic posts, but I promise nothing.
You have been warned.
Oh, and PS? My boy, who has refuse to wear hats since he was old enough to start snatching them off his head every time I tried to put one on? He finally wore his hat. And, can I just say, he is pretty freaking cute!