This weekend we went to a Christmas tree farm to pick out our tree. I find the idea of farms like this totally amusing. You get the liberty of saying you went into the woods and cut down your own Christmas tree. That sentence carries implication of sweat, hard work, and dedication. However, what you don’t need to disclose is the fact that the farm is designed in rows, where you literally drive up and down each, in search of the ideal tree. Upon identification of said tree, you place the vehicle in park, step out of the car, and quickly cut the tree down. It’s no pain and all gain. That is how we roll around here. Take heart that we will gladly proclaim that we spent Saturday cutting down our own Christmas tree IN THE WOODS. Yes, and in TWENTY DEGREE weather. I’m exhausted just writing about it.
It did take slightly longer than anticipated, but doesn’t everything with a toddler? It was right about this time that I started to get cold. We will say that despite my husbands' best advice, my approach to dressing leaned more towards fashion sense and not common sense. Instead of enjoying the tree cutting experience, I stood there freezing my ass off, fighting off thoughts in my head that included the words “Craig was right” and “I should have dressed warmer” in the same sentence.
Tommy Boy has ruined me forever, so when I look at this photo, all I can think about is Fat Tree On a Little Truck…
We made it home with the tree still intact, deeming the whole experience a whopping success. Our expectations aren't too high around here.
A Tour of My Parents’ House
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