Oh Tannenbaum





So here we are at Month 6 in the preggo journey.  Hard to believe we only have four months left . . . only four months left, yay!  My little gymnast is now probably about a lb and a half and over 8 inches long and growing like a weed – yes I will post the belly pic soon, I promise.  I just have to find a time when I look semi cute, which is harder than you think.

So we went to Tulsa to have Thanksgiving with the elder Z clan (Dino, Rylee and the boys) plus Jason’s other brother and fam and Rylee’s parents, brother and niece.  What a motley crew we were!  There was a lot of running (and adults telling the kids in vain not to run in the house), game playing, Guitar Hero, lazing about in pajamas, loads of feasting (of course) and even a little shopping.  All in all, very fun, but exhausting! 

We came home Saturday night and got a wild idea to go grocery shopping at the Wal-Mart Supercenter.  We were clearly not in our right minds.  As we pulled into the parking lot and found a space up front, we sensed that we might not have been so crazy after all.  The place was deserted.  I guess after all the pillaging on Friday, shoppers were just worn out.  So we happily glided down the quiet aisles and got our goodies, including our first real tree.  See, we had these grandiose plans to go to a tree farm not far from here and get a hand-picked tree – you know, for the experience.  My parents had planned to come along but had just returned from a seat-of-their -pants trip to Eureka Springs and weren’t up to it.  I think we then realized that we are prone to Griswold-type incidents and thought it safer and cheaper to go the Wal-Mart route.

We got the thing home only to discover that we were without the necessary tools to get it ready for the tree stand.  Oh, and the tree stand we so thriftily bought for .25 at a garage sale was missing a few parts.  Just wait, it gets better.  Jason was able to borrow a small saw from his buddy Scott, and as it turns out – the saw was duller than a butter knife.  Still, Jason hacked away at the base of our poor tree.  As Jason’s face turned a darker shade of red with each stroke of the dull saw, I started to see a real Clark Griswold moment unfold and envisioned a full-blown tantrum complete with a string of curse words and the tree flying through the patio door.  Thankfully, the tree gave up first and the job was done.  Then we discovered the missing parts  of the tree stand, so the tree spent its first night in the stand leaning against the wall. 

We did manage to get a tree stand on Sunday, and the tree is crooked.  Then I pruned too much from the bottom, giving it an even more off-kilter look.  Poor little tree.  Jason calls it our gangsta tree.  I love it all the same . . . and hey, it smells good!


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