Santa on steroids

O.k. ladies, gather round with your cups of Christmas cheer and find out what happens when you leave things up to the men.  Yesterday I left for a shopping trip to the mall (hate).  My husband and son were going to get the tree.  Now usually we all go together and make a big production out of it.  Even though my girls are grown and moved out, we still get together as a family for the tree shopping.  It goes something like this: argue about what day to go, argue about where we are going to buy the tree, then go out to dinner first (including another argument about where to eat), then lots of drama at the tree lot (of course) and finally bringing it home to decorate.  I love my family.

For a few years we were getting the tree flocked with a light dusting of the fake snow, but this turned out to be a pain, since we had to come back and pick it up the next day.  Nobody wanted to do that and usually ended up with more bickering and in the true spirit of Christmas, led to comments like (cover your ears if you offend easily) "Flock you" and  "Flock off".  So much for Peace on Earth.

Are you still with me?  This picture makes me dizzy.  Anyway, back to yesterday.  We haven't been able to coordinate schedules, so we broke with tradition and the GUYS bought the tree.  Since we moved into this house, my husband and son have wanted to put in a HUGE tree.  Something so big and filled with testosterone, that it belongs in a town square, with hundreds of little WHO characters linked arm in arm singing "Fa Who Do Ray", or whatever Seussism  is chanted.  But us three girls,(estrogen) kept the purchase balanced and practical. Not. This. Year.

When I got in from shopping, the smell of pine slapped me in the face and cleared my sinuses.  I thought the whole tree lot was in my living room.  Well almost.

I have to hand it to them, I don't know how they got it in here.  I  envisioned them cutting a swath through the house like a giant tree tsunami, leaving behind a pile of area rugs, lamps and pictures off the wall.  Putting up a tree this size would be worth a divorce if my husband and I were trying to get it into the stand.  But they did it, and I don't want to know how, especially the part where my son was hanging over the balcony to put on the tree topper. (Women would have put the topper on when the tree is laying on the ground right?)

I don't even have a tree skirt for this thing.  To the boys credit, they put down some old pool towels to protect the hardwood floor.  There is a big metal stand under there with wooden shims to keep it straight.  Yes you heard me. Shims.  This is turning into a Home Depot project.

Tonight we go out to dinner, then come back and trim this behemoth.  It should be hilarious.  I will need to get more lights today.  We may blow a fuse.