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.
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.”