Well, I prayed. I prayed that with nearly 20 people coming over for Thanksgiving, I would NOT get sick. My prayers were answered. Sort of. I had the flu last week (not Thanksgiving, mind you), and it has thrown me for a loop. I’m behind on everything (that I was already behind on!), so I’m trying to get caught up.
Every year, we shop for our Christmas tree on the Saturday after Thanksgiving. My best friend—Man of Honor in my wedding—came home this year from Florida to spend the holiday with us. He’s a bachelor with no kids, so I take it upon myself to smother him with our traditions when he comes to visit.
It should be noted that my BF grew up in Michigan. He understands its capabilities when it comes to cold. I told him he should buy earmuffs. So…there.
The four of us were bundled quite well (albeit still chilly), but the Floridian was hurtin’. I heard him exclaim something excitedly at one point. I looked over, and he had found an extra pair of gloves in his coat. Alas, no earmuffs.
We semi-quickly found our tree and made him take pictures of us.
“How ‘bout one of just the two of us?” “And how about another one from this angle?” I think I was trying his frigid patience.
When we finally cut it down, he was very happy to get out of there. He covered his ears, my boys carried the tree, and my little one swung around the hack saw so I could take pictures. Very normal.
As we were riding back on the Santa-driven trailer, he was holding his ears and said, “Damn you and your Christmas traditions!” It was the line of the day.
Don’t let him fool you. He loved it, and my kids loved that he got to be with us on one of our favorite days! Traditions—gotta love ‘em!