Now that it's December, I can accept the fact that Christmas is rapidly approaching. Now that Houston is almost --- er, 21 months (I can't quite get myself to round up to that second year yet), he is starting to understand that something exciting is happening. He's learned how to say, "San-sah" and "Ho ho ho" and "Mehhhhh Kissmas." And although he's pretty apprehensive about the big guy, he's quick to point out each and every "San-sah" he sees... even the black Santas at Burlington Coat Factory that I thought would confuse him. Hell, they confused me.
This weekend we went to cut down our Christmas tree. Justin and I thought Houston would be pumped to run around the farm and pick out a tree for our house. Well, for one, it was freezing. And if there is one thing this mini Justin inherited from him momma, it's our hatred for an environment below 68 degrees. So he was cranky. Annnd we forgot to bring cash. While Justin hightailed it to an ATM, Mr. Misery and I tried spotting a tree on our own. I pointed out a few of the hundreds of possibilities, limited down to about 30 because we weren't smart enough to tag something ahead of time (probably those damn pre-Halloween Christmas decorators...bastards). Houston, through freezing tears, whimpered, "Over there," and distinctly pointed to a little piece of perfection I had missed. That tree is now standing in our living room.
...much to Houston's dismay. Justin found us, with cash and a saw. He started cutting as Houston tried climbing up his back. Maybe it was a maneuver to distract. Regardless, as the tree hit the ground, Houston's whimpers turned into a full-fledged bawl. "ALL DONNNNNE," he yelled. "Oh NOOOO, all DONE!" He sobbed as Justin dragged it to the car, and only let up when the little old sales lady (Mrs. Claus?) gave him a gingerbread cookie. Okay, I guess we have two common genes: a distaste for cold weather, and a strong taste for cookies.
Here's hoping Houston isn't traumatized or need meds for seasonal depression.
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