We went to cut down our own Christmas tree Sunday. The farm we
go to is absolutely amazing. It offers rides to and back from the fields.
On our way there, I started singing Jingle Bells to Alli, only I changed
the lyrics to "Oh what fun it is to ride in a two-horse open wagon."
I wish I could convey how bitterly bone-chilling cold it was.
When the wind hit, my teeth hurt. I was thankful I had wrapped Alli up
like the kid in "Christmas Story" when he couldn't put his arms down.
She didn't seem to mind, but we tried to be quick because of the weather
and settled on one of the first trees we came across that met our criteria:
Jerry has to struggle to touch the top. Normally we would've kept going
because it can't be that simple, right? Wrong. It's the best tree. Ever.
We tied the tree to the top of the car for the first time instead of shoving
it in the back and living with the pine needles that wander their way
into our butt cracks for the rest of the year. This time we were smart
and remembered to bring rope. But Jerry mistakenly tied all the doors
shut except one, so we had to crawl in through the front passenger side.