Dear Laney,
I didn't post a blog update yesterday because I was still trapped under the tree, waiting for the EMTs to arrive. Not really. Our internet was down. But I did get multiple calls and e-mails from people who wanted to know why there wasn't an update, as if the difference between 15 months, 24 days and 15 months, 25 days could include your first school play, your first date, and your high school graduation.
But at the risk of enabling those needy people, here's what everyone missed Friday:
After the tree fell over, I put you in your crib for a nap, dragged all 12 feet of the tree out onto the back porch, swept up the broken glass and ornaments, mopped the floor, ran the robot vacuum, e-mailed off a work project just moments before my deadline, and decided that the tree could be your dad's problem when he got home. The End. (Or, as you like to say, "Eee Egh!")
That's when I noticed that the dogs were treating the Christmas tree I dragged out and dumped on their porch like an all-you-can-destroy toy buffet. I could live with Ella chewing on the stuffed reindeer, but Gus was working on the lights and garland. Remind me to tell you Granny Jack's theory about how, before we're born, we stand in different lines in Heaven to get our attributes. Granny Jack would say that Gus got in the Pretty line twice, and missed the Smarts line entirely.
So I called your dad and told him to come home early, because on the off chance that we'd need to take Gus to the Vet, I certainly wan't going to be the one to tell him that Gus had consumed a $16 strand of LED lights.
So Thor came home and went out in the yard to salvage whatever ornaments he could, then throw the tree over the fence. The tree has not been heard from since, and we have not found a replacement.
I'm currently looking for something that fits in a vase.
Love,
Mom
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