Stalking Around the Christmas Tree

I've never been a real holly jolly kind of gal.  I enjoy being showered with sparkly, expensive loot just as much as the next woman, but I've always found the whole ornament, tree, and mistletoe deal a bit excessive.  Since I unknowingly married Kris Kringle and therefore have no choice but to deck my halls, I have resorted to begging and pleading this holiday season. 

Unfortunately, my husband will not allow me to take a yuletide snow check, so on a dreary Sunday afternoon, he drug me to the only place the Swiss enjoy more than the bank: a ginormous Christmas warehouse filled with robotic polar bears, angels, pink poinsettias, and tree after tree after tree. 

 

 



In my defense, my objection to a Christmas tree is only partially because I hate foliage---I was even so kind as to suggest a pleasant, synthetic tree that he could decorate to his enormous heart's desire.  You see, the problem with an authentic, bona fide pine is that it triggers my OCD much in the same way as raw poultry, elevator buttons, and porta potties: it's likely contaminated.

I think most of my reasonable, level-headed readers would agree that trees belong in their natural habitat, just as cheetahs belong in the wild and Britney Spears belongs in the music industry.  Yet somehow, my husband rejected this notion, and lo and behold, we bought a damn shrub.

A quick phone call to my brutally honest mother confirmed my worst fears: she once knew a lady who knew a lady who unknowingly bought a Christmas tree infested with spider eggs.  Once those eggs did the whole incubation bit and hatched right in time for good old December 25th, that house was crawling with more legs than a Victoria's Secret runway. 

I have inspected, reinspected, and sawed off enough branches to ensure that no spiders survived the journey to our upstairs living room, and just for good measure, I checked the trunk for coiled reptiles that could slither or climb their way into Amelia's tiny airway. 

Isn't she a beaut!

Fortunately, Kris Kingle has yet to get around to decorating, and the fact that the tree remains ornament-less is actually to my benefit---I have no chance of knocking down a ceramic candy cane when I stalk around the tree each night, threatening to wake my husband from dreams of sleigh bells and figgy pudding.

Let's Play Catch Up

Welp, I'm back.  After two hectic round trips between America and Switzerland, three incredible weddings, and way too many buckets of KFC, I finally have returned to the land of the cows...and to my neglected blog. You can all stop teetering on the edge of your seats now...

Let's do a quick recap of our time away from each other:

Wedding one- Jenny, one of my oldest and dearest friends from grade school, had a spectacular outdoor/barn/country wedding where cowboy boots were the preferred footwear.

As pictured above, I also brought the Britney Spears' dance out of pre-pregnancy retirement. I feel I did her proud, although the extensive cardio workout did not bode well with champagne and four slices of cake. I don't know how Brit Brit does it.

 

Next up: Malloy/Peck wedding. This much fun in one night would be a misdemeanor in Switzerland.

 

© Across the Miles Photography

 

And the concluding nuptials---the Kerwin/Vogt wedding. Alas, the old gang was finally back together, and we partied like it was 2004.

 

 

 



As all great things must eventually end, we once again said tearful goodbyes and hopped back on a plane to our village.  Besides a goat or two giving birth, it appeared nothing had changed during our extended time away. 

 

Something else that hasn't changed: Amelia's sleep issues.  Frustrations mounting and ice cream cartons piling up, I have scoured mommy blogs and websites at all hours of the night trying to reach some conclusion as to why my child requires less sleep than a fruit fly.  I have decided that it could be one of two things:  (a) she's a vampire, or (b) like Thomas Edison and many other geniuses, she simply cannot sleep because her mind is so stimulated.

 

 

 

"Sorry, mom, can't sleep! Too busy with these quantum physics!"


 

 I convinced myself one night that we had the next Alberta Einstein on our hands, but then Amelia farted, laughed, and hit her head, so I went back to the vampire hypothesis.

 

Well it was great catching up after my bridal sabbatical. I hope everyone's Thanksgiving was as wonderful as ours (powdered mash potatoes, rotisserie chicken, and stove top stuffing---this mama appreciates fine cookin'). 

 

I promise not to go AWOL again as long as you all promise to stop getting married!