I felt kind of bad last year when I came home from work to see the neighb busily sawing away, placing the limbs of the dried-up tree into some of those lawn bags that you find…wait, where is it that you find them? And what do you do with them after you’re finished filling them with lawn debris? I wouldn’t know, because the hubs and I don’t use them.
Anyway, I felt a little guilty as I stood in my driveway, watching him work so hard to get rid of my tree. But then I was all like, wait a minute, it’s been in your yard for two months, and you’re just now doing something about it?
In my attempt to lengthen the Christmas season just a bit more, I’ve saved my Christmas Memories post for today. My New Year’s Resolution post will come next week.
On Christmas Day, my Facebook status update looked like this:
My older sister and I got into a huge screaming match last night about how the Christmas gift exchange should work. No punches were thrown or tears shed, but my family members all agreed that with the copious use of ‘bitch,’ it was a big enough fight to count as our annual Christmas knock-down dragout. Last year’s was about coffee; this year’s was about the gift exchange. I’m kind of looking forward to seeing what next year’s will be about. Merry Christmas, my peeps.
I’m pretty sure I would have let my older sister’s stupid rules about the gift exchange slide (WHO doesn’t agree that person #1 should be the last person to go so that they get a chance to steal from someone, too?) if she had called me a bone, too.
Let me back up and explain.
"Yeah, seriously," Mom agreed, munching on peanuts as she walked into the room. "It's pretty big. You could be at least three months."
Don’t worry, I returned the monkey to his normal sitting position before any of the kids could see his perverse pose (but after I snapped a pic, of course). We don’t know who’s responsible for feeding the poor monkey some hard alcohol and manipulating him to degrade himself in this way, but I’m pretty sure it’s got Old Gramma’s name written all over it. I’d say she was trying to tell us exactly what she thought of all of her future grandkids.
My brother-in-law looked at me with a puzzled expression on his face, very reminiscent of the one his wife uses when she’s trying to read a book. “I can’t tell if that was a smartass comment or not, Shay.”