Dress Rehearsal

The family Rama officially kicked off the holiday season yesterday with our annual trip to the Christmas tree farm:



With the V-meister and J-dog in tow on a sled, we trekked up and down the rows, searching for the perfect specimen.

While the P-dog, rent-a-saw in hand, was prepared to fell the first fir that batted an eyelash at him, I felt that none of the trees were speaking to me on a personal level.

But two meltdowns and one half hour later, an executive decision had to be made.

"OK, P-dog, I've had enough. Just pick a freakin' tree and start hacking."

("Not that one! GOD!")

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Back at the homestead, we trimmed:


And decked the halls:


Migraine-O-Matic Jingle Bells


Santa Tankard


Stockings


The Button-Eyed Reindeer Quilt I Love to Hate


The V-meister and J-dog were positively giddy with excitement.

After all the decorating was done, the P-dog and I put on some Christmas music and relaxed on the couch with a glass of wine while the kids played the "Run Back and Forth Screaming Until Someone Gets Injured" game and fought over the nativity snow globe.

A festive vibe was most definitely in the air.

It took the little V-meister a bit longer than normal to fall asleep last night, but we chalked it up to the excitement of the day and a lingering cold.

And were therefore unprepared to find her at our bedside early this morning, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, fully dressed, and wearing a ginormous grin as she greeted us with a heartfelt:

"MERRY CHRISTMAS MAMA and DADDY!!!!!!"

(Awe, shit.)

She thought it was Christmas morning.

She had washed, dressed, and made her little bed.

Then waited, waited, waited.

Unable to stand the suspense any longer, she had decided it was time to rouse her lazy bones parents and let the present opening begin.

The look on her face when the P-dog gently explained that it wasn't Christmas just yet . . . it was heartbreaking.

It was all I could do not to scramble down to the basement and present her with an offering from my present stash as an early delivery from Santa.

Instead, we reminded her how many more times it would be necessary to go to bed and wake up before the big day finally arrived and allowed her to eat her chocolate Advent calendar for breakfast with a side of cartoons.

And after a brief moment of extreme pensiveness, she was OK with it.

She's a trooper, the little V.

Advent can be a real bitch.


Ooops, My Bad!