Hunting the Perfect Tree

When we lived in NY, we always cut down our Christmas tree. They had large tree farms with tractor rides, live animals, elaborate shops and warm cider. It was a family event. Everyone into you snow suit. Pile in the van. Browse the fields for a while. Covet the tree that some eager-beaver family tagged when it wasn't freezing outside. Return to the second tree you saw and chop it down. Lug it back to the tractor. Strap it to the roof of the van. Re-pack the children. Fight with the tree to made it stand. Decorate. Admire.

So when we arrived in Illinois, we carried on the tradition. Year one we drove over the river and through the woods to a farm about 45 minutes away. We were a little surprised by how small it was but we found a tree. Year two we went to a farm much closer and far more Charlie Brown. This year we came to the realization that in Illinois they grow corn and soy beans, not evergreen trees - at least if you live south of I-80. (For all you east coasters, there is Chicagoland and there is south of 80. It's very comparable to NYC and Upstate.) Several people told me that they have farms around where you can get a nice tree but I haven't seen them. Maybe if we went west - at least they have trees in the wild. In the mean time, I fear that we have been spoiled by knowing real trees. Nice trees. Pretty trees. Full trees.

So we were left with the following options: 1) Charlie Brown tree farm 2)Pre-cut from Wisconsin 6 weeks ago 3)Fake. Those aren't italics. That's me shuddering. This created a need to analyze how I felt about plastic (and I choose paper at the grocery store). Cons: No pine smell, no family event (and Tim won't remember the previous trips), fake. Pros: Straight "trunk", pre-lit that only comes in white, no complaining about itchy eyes and sneezing for 3 weeks, not cold, will pay for itself if we keep it for 2 decades or so, no need to find a day on the calendar when we have more that 2 hours together.

So I caved. Tim and I went and bought an artificial tree last week. It could have been a family outing but the finding 2 hours together criteria has been challenging the last couple weeks. It was fairly painless. I didn't break out in hives, though Tim had a minor meltdown unrelated to the tree but directly tied to his hatred of shopping. It was a little easier to make it stand than to erect a live tree. The lights were way harder to connect than they should have been. And I have to admit that it doesn't look bad after a little fanning of the branches.

Old Enough To Enjoy the Snow

Apples and Trees

7 years ago, we attended a family reunion. Most of Andy's Mom's family gathered at a ski lodge in Vermont over the Fourth of July. Some came early. Some came late. But I think everyone's stay overlapped. It was fun. We generally only see these people at weddings and funerals so it was nice that there was no real pressure for anyone once we all arrived.

Andy is one of 14 cousins on that branch of the family. It was a long time ago, but many of those cousins had their own families. I would guess that there were about 20 children in attendance, the oldest being no more than 10. (In case you are wondering, my last count has the little ones at 29 but my information isn't always current!) Anyway, with that many people, you are bound to find someone with whom you get along.

Drew encountered a cousin (for lack of a better term) with whom he could see eye to eye. The boys were playing baseball with the dad of said cousin. It was really more like catch. The adult reminded them that they needed to hold their hands out so that the ball wouldn't hit them in the tummy. One of the boys corrected him, "It's not a tummy, it's a stomach." I think it was mine, but I can't remember for sure. The ensuing conversation led me to believe that this was a typical comment from either 4 year old.

I was reminded of this episode the other day by Tim.

I was trying to convince Tim that story time was a fun and worthy excursion. He's been to story time tons of times but not consistently or recently. I reminded him that we sit on the floor together and he gets to choose a carpet square. We listen and it is fun. For about 15 seconds he was silent. I could see his doubtful expression. Why trade a sure thing like TV and video games for the chancy story time? What if the stories are about basket weaving? Or what to wear to a wedding? Or why you should eat anything besides PB&J? Then he looked at me and in all seriousness, mixed with a touch of outrage, said, "They are rectangles."

So now I'm wondering if perhaps there is some genetic trait that makes these kids so particular about their vocabulary. And if so, which branch is responsible for these apples.