Ahhhh… the smell of cloves and cranberries. The sound of sleighbells and electric mixer on perpetual whip for endless vats of eggnog. It must be Christmas!
And Christmas means Christmas tree of course. And so, with my scraggly bunch- I do believe they were told to brush their hair… really- we set out into the bush for our annual tradition of killing a poor, defenseless fir in the name of dressing it up in popcorn, tinsel and shiny balls.
This is the first in which we’ve all partaken… partook… whatever… this year everyone trudged through the snow including last born, baby-girl-child, who has historically insisted upon remaining in the car, screaming…
But this year… this year… it was truly a family affair. And eldest son got to cut down his first, very perfect, Christmas tree!
