My husband has been generous in the tree department: he had terrible allergies as a child and grew up with the tradition of an artificial Christmas tree. Despite this, he has approved my annual pilgrimage for a real, formerly live, Christmas tree. In response, I have given up the notion that all four of us will set out together, merrily singing carols, to find the perfect tree. (I have yet to give up my romantic notions of a tree decorating party, but maybe next year.)
This year, Lizzie and I swung by a tree farm on the way home from our little friend Luke's birthday party. We didn't have a saw, a checkbook or cash, but that didn't stop us. After trekking to the back of the woods, identifying our tree and asking the kind gentleman to please cut our tree down, we proceeded to the farm's office. Uh oh. No credit cards. However, they had a W&L/UVA worthy honor system and we were able to take our tree home with us.
This year our Christmas tree is "the girls' tree". We may not be pioneers, but Lizzie and I still know how to get the job done. Wooohooo!
P.S. Although this is Zizzie's tree, I must admit that my smart and beautiful daughter has started to pronounce her name with the "L" sound. Darnit.
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