We went to a tree farm today and chopped down our Christmas tree, a tradition that pre-dates our children. This year, Daisy joined us. The horses pulling the hayride really freaked her out so much she couldn't even bark loudly. She just sort of woofed in awe.
Jack didn't wear his Santa hat because he didn't want to lose it, and George knew he would be lying in the mud to cut down the tree. Nick and I, however, wanted to wear Christmas on our heads. We were not the only ones, either.
We found our tree, which is a lovely blue spruce. I left the chopping to the manly man and his assistant.
Jack sang Christmas carols with an occasional Blue's Clues song thrown in for a little variety while his brother hauled the tree to the service area, where very nice teenage boys cleaned up the bottom, shook out loose needles, and wrapped the tree into a tidy package.
The tree farm also has a couple of reindeer. Now I know it's Christmas.
We came home before the great midwest storm hit. For us, it's supposed to start with rain (already happening), followed by ice, then snow, wind, and general winter mayhem. I'm not leaving my house for weeks.
Neither is Daisy, who was completely worn out after a day of woofing at giant quadrupeds.
Be safe, folks. Wherever you are.