In the spirit of the sweet baby Jesus

Yesterday the kids and I brought a tree to my parents house to decorate for them, for Christmas.  This turned out to be one of those labors of love that I would have rather stuck sharp rusty nails into my eyeballs than have to do again. I did not go as I had planned, any of it.

After 7 hours, 3 stores, a trip back to my house, lunch out, 2 snacks, 1 lost dog and three tree stands later, my mom and I stood by the decorated tree and laughed.  The stroke that I thought I was having around 3:00 subsided as the white wine washed away the throbbing temple pain at 7:00.

We continued to laugh as I explained that this was suppose to be no effort for them, just joy and ease.

We laughed even harder at the pot the Christmas tree ended up in, filled with sand and rock and the fact that the tree still DID NOT stand real straight.

We laughed harder still when I reenacted my bout of Coprolalia that occurred during this most lovely tree trimming event.

Then I almost spit out my wine when my oh so sweet mother said,

“Yeah, I found myself saying fuck the other day.  And then I said to myself, FUCK you better FUCKING stop saying the word FUCK!”

And I couldn’t stop laughing as I asked her if I could blog what she just said.

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