Consider Yourself Christmassed!

It was a good day. Between my first run after the bad knee (best 15 minutes of the last 2 weeks. Short but awesome.) and the consistent layer of sparling snow, making even mundane suburbia a little beautiful, I was all ready to get in the Christmas spirit. In accordance with Farmer’s Day (well… the day of the immaculate conception. But I’m a heathen.) we got festive and decorated. Little Sister and I were up at the crack of dawn (well… that’s a lie. I was up. But I decided breakfast and yoga were far more important. Then banking and Centra. But after that.) and off to cleaning we went. We were a flurry of lifting, sorting, tidying, dusting and sweeping. I even  moved couches instead of just going around them. The house was ready.

Next came the trip to the attic. Dad took the lead, for as we all know, a woman’s place is not in the attic. A woman’s place is holding the ladder and then catching the very heavy boxes only to leave them drop clunkily to the floor. Which totally didn’t happen to me…

Amidst frustrating fairy lights, a plethora of Santa hats and many a candle holding decoration, it was done. And I have the pictures to prove it.

Behold, the goth tree. It’s essentially a spiral of darkness. Finally, internet proof to my friends that my family promotes black christmas trees. That’s how we roll.

Aforementioned candle holders.


The haunted crib. See that angel? For years, Dad claimed it just flew off at im. We laughed. Suuuuuuuure, Dad. Until it happened to me today. This is what I get for all my talk of “evolution.”

The cute, non-haunted crib.

Snowman the first.

Snowman the second.

Snowman the third, happily hanging out on the stereo. We like snowmen.

Mom’s doll. She has had this doll for 20 years and continues to be her favourite christmas item. She may love it more than me. And yes, the eyes are drawn on with a biro.

Me, chilling in my santa hat. I’m aware of the state I’m in. I wasn’t leaving the house. I swear, how I survived the first 17 years of my life without boy’s fatmans, I’ll never know.

Trifecta of bears!

Yet more snowmen!

Very precariously placed on the windowsill.

The christmas bears of my childhood. Decorations may come and go, gifts may be forgotten, but the bears will remain. The bears will return.

Happy december!


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