I've figured out the "bargain" of fast food--I still feel pretty full 19 hours after my A&W binge! Incredible what a little grease and fat will do to one's system. Think of what I've saved by not eating for nearly a day!
Team Testosterone is determined to have Christmas in our house right now whether I help them or not. To that end, they spent two hours in Mr. B's room armed with scissors, construction paper and markers. They made it snow, decorated our fake tree* found stored in an upstairs closet and added a fireplace for Santa to use. Their enthusiasm even melted this Grinchy Gal's heart--it grew two sizes when she saw the finished product.
O Christmas tree--how beautiful your branches!
Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow
Down through the chimney comes good St. Nick
It's official, my kids are goofy goobers.
* Explanation: I know you're surprised to see a fake fiber-optic tree in my house. A few years ago we had a chronic tree-tipping problem. Our lovely 14 ft. tall balsam crashed across the length of our living room THREE times. The second time it landed on a 3-year-old Mr. B who I wouldn't have found buried beneath it's branches if he hadn't been screaming in terror. The third crash occurred when nobody else was in the room--which meant Mr. D had nobody to blame. Mr. D, in a fit of disgusted fury, chucked the entire tree out the back door and stormed off to the local hardware store, where, in the middle of December, the only available replacement this 4 ft. beauty. It stood humbly in the space we'd cleared for it's gigantic, more organic cousin. The following Christmas Mr. D was wiser about setting up tall trees and Team Testosterone inherited the fiber-optic tree for their playroom.
* Explanation: I know you're surprised to see a fake fiber-optic tree in my house. A few years ago we had a chronic tree-tipping problem. Our lovely 14 ft. tall balsam crashed across the length of our living room THREE times. The second time it landed on a 3-year-old Mr. B who I wouldn't have found buried beneath it's branches if he hadn't been screaming in terror. The third crash occurred when nobody else was in the room--which meant Mr. D had nobody to blame. Mr. D, in a fit of disgusted fury, chucked the entire tree out the back door and stormed off to the local hardware store, where, in the middle of December, the only available replacement this 4 ft. beauty. It stood humbly in the space we'd cleared for it's gigantic, more organic cousin. The following Christmas Mr. D was wiser about setting up tall trees and Team Testosterone inherited the fiber-optic tree for their playroom.
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