We name our Christmas trees

 

This tradition has been passed down three generations of trees.  A measly three years in human time, yet who knows how long in the land of trees.  It is a tradition I hope survives the test of time, and with proper documentation…in the form of a family ‘tree’ (ha!), I hope that years from now we can look back and giggle a little bit.  In the beginning, it seemed to be a silly little game we played, but now we look forward to it.  The adoption and naming of the tree.

It began three years ago with grandfather tree.  His name: Tree Tree.  Simple, precise, to the point.

His legacy lived on last year through his son: Red Green.  Colorful, upbeat, and festive.

This year, we have a beautiful, majestic, sophisticated tree.  Grand-daughter of Tree Tree, daughter of Red Green…

Treela Pinewood.

 

They hid the mofo candy!!

What. The. Fuck.

In an effort to distract me from my addiction to crack sugar, my husband has enlisted the children to hide their Halloween candy from me!

What. The. FUCK?  I was really looking forward to a little Baby Ruth wrapped in a Milky Way…with a vanilla flavored Tootsie Roll chaser.  God damn I love those vanilla Tootsie Rolls.  Why can’t they just sell those in a package by themselves.  No one wants the lemon ones.  No one (except for me…when it gets to the last of the candy and there’s nothing good left…then I want the lemon ones).

Hide the candy?  From their mom?

Could it be because I helped myself to all the Almond Joys and all of the Butterfingers yesterday?  Or maybe because I started in on the Smarties, M&M’s and Sweet-Tarts?  Perhaps it was the sugar induced fit of rage that followed?  I tore through the house like a tazmanian devil…a swirling tornado of milk chocolate aroma, candy wrappers and Skittle dust.  Maybe the last straw was waking up next to a bitchy, irrational, sour patch woman with a killer sugar hangover?

‘Throw away all the candy and all the junk food in the house!  I hate everything!!  I can’t control myself!!  Save yourselves!!’

I’m completely irrational and I plead with him to just try and help me out.  I talk all this game about eating healthy and detoxing from junk food because it makes me crazy (just a little but maniacal).  I ask for all this support and help in trying to keep it out of the house.  Out of sight, out of mind.  Just help me out, man!  Get this shit out of here.  Once that first grape Skittle touches my eager little taste buds…it’s over.  It’s over.  Game over.  Shut it down.

I guess he didn’t like it.  I guess it wasn’t sexy Halloween kitten enough.  I suppose I asked for it.  I suppose I have a little bit of a problem.  But am I a little bit irritated that he made a special phone call specifically to ask them to hide it before I got home…and that I can’t even have one little piece??  Because it’s hidden from me??

I’ll sniff it out.  Give me 8 minutes.