You know, growing up Jewish and not participating in my own Christmas traditions, (but watching all of my friends enjoy their's) there was nothing more that I wanted when I had children of my own, than to start our own traditions. (whew, how was that for a runon, Mrs Harper?) However, it seems as though the man in my life prides himself in not having a tradition. You know, he's got the let's try something new each year thing going on. Why go to the same lot each year, and pay top dollar for a great, fairly fresh, quality tree, when you can go to Home Depot and get, well the opposite. Or that one year he hit the St. George's men's something or other, and paid even more, and got a tree which died within a few days of bringing it home. Last year's tree was so fat around the bottom (ok, don't be ugly here ladies), I think I used every strand of lights we owned to make it around the tree one time! But then, what can you expect when your husband's only criteria for picking the tree is the lowest price possible. He doesn't even unwrap it and look at it first! I kid you not. Morgan just said that all he does is look for the biggest tree at the lowest price. Well, guess what, unknowingly, he has created his own tradition of sorts. He and Morgan now go for the tree every year. She usually argues with him about not buying a certain tree, he buys it anyway, and whatever they bring home, I turn and turn until I find it's best side and then fill in with whatever ornaments I can. By the way, this routine seems to happen later and later each year. I like to shoot for the weekend after Thanksgiving, but that time is devoted to a charity golf tournament he plays in the same time every year. That is usually followed up by not feeling so well for a few days, then a blast of hot weather that gets me completely not in the mood myself. What am I saying here? You might have guessed it, no tree yet!
And to top matters off, we have the dog living in the house right now. Remember the heartworm story? (He is doing great by the way after a bout of inflamed lungs, coughing up blood, going on prednisone, and eating like a horse) This means that my house has turned into a giant pile of dog hair. I HATE dog hair. Here, I'll show you:
my lovely kitchen floor, yeah, gross!!!
my lovely family room carpet, which cannot be adequately conveyed through one photo.
all of which is caused by this! and don't be fooled by his cuteness, he is a major league pain in the bahunkus!!!
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