Tuesday, December 13, 2011

O, Tannenbaum

The Saturday after Thanksgiving, we drove down to a cut-your-own Christmas Tree Farm and got ourselves a handsome Fraser fir.

In your face, Home Depot.

I am totally sold on the idea that a farm is where little boys are meant to play. Dirt, puddles, animals, tractors...I think my son hyperventilated with joy. The little M'Geezer stretched out his little paws to feed the farm animals and--my favorite--ruffled a few chicken feathers by chasing the two-legged brood in the barn. And the puddles? Although Huckster M'Gee was wearing puddle-jumping appropriate boots, he was crossly warned not to go tromping around the water and wade with the ducks. His mother didn't happen to be carrying a change of clothes for such activities. "And, the 'Bad Parent Award' goes to..."


We rode out to the Christmas trees on a little trolley pulled by an enormous tractor. Watching heavy duty machinery in action is like dazzling glitter to the eyes of my two-almost-three-year-old. He wouldn't take his baby blues off those muddy tractor wheels.

We left the farm with hot chocolate in our cups, a close encounter with Santa, muddy shoes, and a freshly cut Christmas tree.




And of course, I saved the best for last. There's nothing like the cuddly face of an alpaca that puts a little warm spot in my heart.

Santa, I want one.