more eggnog please...

When growing up, my dad wanted really one thing for us girls in our mate. I suppose he figured this one skill meant a lot of good things of this man-- that, or my dad is just looking for a scapegoat. My dad wanted the man to be able to cut down the Christmas tree. So, I went and married myself a logger. 

Last year, we made my dad's Christmas. We took my husbands parents, my grandparents and my parents way up in the mountains for serious Christmas tree hunting. We had the whole forest to choose from. Chris whipped out his chainsaw and cut down some huge, beautiful trees. 

This past weekend, we did it again with just the three of us. We bundled Audrey up and headed two hours southeast. This trip went a little differently. 

Since pregnancy, I now get car sick. Sweating, nausea and headaches. That is how the trip started. Just as I was feeling better, Chris slowed down the truck to check on these people that were pulled over. Nausea rushed back as I saw them pulling a dead deer over a log with its guts left in a pile behind. 

We then get up as far as we can, snow permitting, and get out to pick our tree. I've always taken hours to select the perfect tree. This time I pointed at one and down she went. Audrey started screaming at the chainsaw noise. Guess she is not daddy's little logger. 

Once the tree got home, it was chaos. The tree was huge. Chris brought it in our tiny living room and it was like a scene from Christmas Vacation. Branches were crawling up the windows and walls and scraping the ceiling. I sat back and directed Chris on where to trim and how to turn it. His nerves started to boil over as I directed him on turning it a smidgen to the right, then back to the left, back to the right-- for about 30 minutes. Once it was ready, I started lights. I asked for his help which again led to me telling him he was doing it wrong and taking over.

I drank a little too much eggnog, so the next morning made for even more fun. I stayed in bed while Chris got up with Audrey. A few minutes later I hear this THUMP and wailing begin. I jump out of bed and say, "Where did she fall?" "Off the couch," he said. Aren't we just parents of the year? She probably falls of the couch once a week. Then he says, "Yah, want to watch? I filmed it." WHAT? 

Well, he was filming her standing on the couch and eating the tree (another fabulous parenting moment) and she loses balance and flips off the couch. You hear him on film go "Ah" and shut off the camera. I'm not going to post this in order to avoid calls from child services.

So I took her in my arms and comforted her. I handed her this orange pony ornament my sister had painted me when she was little. She immediately puts it in her mouth. A few minutes later I catch a glimpse of orange paint on my hand. I look at her, sitting on my lap facing outward, and she is chomping away at orange paint- absolutely covering her mouth. 

She lived. No bumps on the head and no paint poisoning. Every day makes for some adventure. Today, I'll probably let her eat some wrapping paper.


Lorie Shewbridge said...

I LOVE this post! This sounds like a Christmas when my kids were little and my youngest picked out a HUGE tree (from an orchard already cut - I did not marry a logger) and we almost broke a window while putting it up.
All of us moms have days and weeks like that - I had to take my oldest to the ER/Walk-in 3 times in two weeks once and was afraid I was gonna get a visit from child services. HaHa
Wishing you a very merry Christmas with your lovely family and your ginormous tree! :-)

kristen said...

I love the picture of her crying in the snow! LOL!

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