Christmas Tree, Please Don’t Die!

The day after Thanksgiving we cut down our tree. Just like last year, except unlike last year we forgot to water it for a week. Once we both realized a week had gone by, we felt inside the dry stand and knew it was going to be hard for it to survive until Christmas. We have watered it every day since, but the tree is barely soaking up any water now. I am afraid it will be brown on Christmas day. I touch the needles and they crumble to the ground.

Lincoln looked at the tree with his hands held together and begged, “Christmas tree! Please don’t die! You can make it! Please, please! You have to be here for Christmas!”

With so much faith in a tree, I think it might possibly make it a little longer. I try to keep the lights off for fear of it catching fire!

Now for some pictures:

Cutting the tree down at the tree farm.

 

Putting the tree up! I wanted the tallest tree I could find. Neither of us have had one this big before!

When we decorate the tree we listen to Christmas music and drink “special drinks.”

 

It looks prettier in real life, but I have never been any good at taking pictures of Christmas trees!

Wish our tree a few more days!

I’m Teething and I Hate My Life…..

Army Guys

I have said it countless times before, but I guess I will say it a few more times; Lincoln is obsessed with army guys and fighting bad guys.

While we were at Wal-Mart I asked Lincoln if he wanted a Power wheels. In case you have forgotten, Power wheels are those cars you dreamed of driving around when you were little. Lincoln looked at the red Corvette and shook his head, “No, I want army guys.”

Yes, he wants a bag of $3 army guys instead of a $200 Corvette he can cruise around while waving at the ladies. I suddenly felt myself trying to persuade him to ask Santa for the Corvette, but he only answered, “Maybe for Easter mom.”

His Christmas List

I don’t know why I was trying to get him to choose something 60xs more expensive, but I was. It might be the fact that he already has about 200 army guys lurking around every corner of our house. It might be their sharp and pointy guns that my feet seem to love to step on. Or it could be that they always seem to find themselves in my shoes, our bed, our closets, and now frequently inside my socks.

But I think the biggest reason I hate army guys, is because of the following conversation I had at Lincoln’s school. I have been trying to make friends with the parents, and it is no easy task.

Me: Hey, your little boy is just so outgoing.

Other mom: Oh, I know. He is all over the place and keeps us busy. Which boy is yours?

Me: Lincoln, the little blonde.

Other mom: Oh yes, he is so……hold on…..there is something in your hair.

Me, briefly thinking about Maverick’s breakfast flying through the air: Okay…

Other mom untangling my hair with a confused look: Is that a…..is that a toy?

Yep, sure enough she pulled an army guy out of my hair. I tried to mumble out an explanation, but we were both thinking the same thing,

         “How long had that been there?”