Cubby and Charlie helped me decorate for Christmas yesterday.
And by "helped," I mean they grabbed everything they could as soon as it was out of the boxes and ran around shrieking with it. At least they were enthusiastic.
We went with a minimalist theme this year. You can translate that to: "I was too lazy to bring down all the boxes at once, so we just put out what I could haul down the stairs in two trips."
Can you tell I'm wearing this weird headband with some kind of random fake gold plant on it that I suppose was meant to be mistletoe? Maybe? Nobody gave me a kiss, anyway. Probably for the best, since I'm currently riddled with cold germs. Mucous season continues unabated.
Jack helped by sleeping.
He did wear some festive pajamas that night to get in the spirit, though.
This weekend, we'll get the tree. I was going to have a tabletop tree, just to foil the adorable wrecking ball in those polar bear p.j.'s, but then Cubby came home and announced he had told all his friends at school we weren't having a Christmas tree. I protested that we were, too, it was just going to be a small one on the table. "Yeah," said Cubby, "And if it's not a big tree it's a FAKE TREE."
All right, then. Big tree it is. (In the parlor, so I can shut the French doors to keep out the crawling destroyer.)