No Charlie Brown Christmas here. . .

As you scroll through this entry, you will see our weekend in pictures, well at least in part. Thursday night we ventured out in the wet weather to make a dent in Cynical's Christmas shopping. The good news is that some of the stash seems to be for me and I managed to squeeze in a trip to the bookstore (second in heavenliness to yarn stores). The bad news is that we slip-slided our way home. Where is John Boy Walton and his sled when you need him?

I began my weekend by taking the day off on Friday and spending it finishing up my Christmas shopping. Thank goodness Thursday's weather only dumped ice and mush on us. By the time we left the roads were amply clear and nothing could stop us.

Shopping. Lunch at Mo's. More shopping and lots of laughing and then it was time for home. Cynical and I cannot remember what we did Friday night, so that means we probably wasted away the rest of our evening watching television and eating fudge.

On Saturday I got up bright and early grinning in anticipation. It was tree day and I was pumped! Pumped to pick it out. Pumped to light it with every available strand of lights. Pumped to pull out ornaments and reminisce about Christmases past.

I had, however, volunteered to work at our office children's holiday party, so I ventured out, survived the party and ventured home again. Dad joined Cynical and I. (We bribed him with promises of a non-healthy lunch if he'd help us get the tree, being as he has truck and all and I don't think we could strap it to Ruby.) In the quickest tree choosing feat yet, we walked away from the local tree lot after about 10 minutes of selection. I swear to you that a light shown over that tree, signaling me that it was the perfect one for us.

Here's a little background on me and the tree hunting. (It will also explain why I have to bribe my dad each year.) When I had my very first apartment, all on my own, I didn't have any storage space for my clothes much less an artificial tree. And, since living on your own for the first time is shrouded in this romantic illusion, I decided I needed a real tree. That's where our tradition began, my Dad and I tromping to tree lots and farms to select the perfect tree. It was our tradition. I think that Dad only humors me by going, but I do enjoy it so much and I hope he realizes how special that time is for me. Once Cynical joined us, but only in a consulting capacity. This year, however, it was our tree, so he was there to also assist in the selection and hauling of trees.

I have to say that we came home with a tree perfect for our space (which is good, being as a light shown above it signaling me to choose that specific one).

So, a once the tree was secured in the house, that was my signal to commence with the lighting. Let me warn you, I love my lights. I love wrapping each and every branch. I love hunting down additional lights. I love knowing that planes could land using my tree alone to guide them. It's my thing. You can read by this baby!

After much wrapping, much light-testing, much shifting of the ladder, the tree was fully illuminated and I was pleased. And a light shown all around us.

Next came the tedious task of unwapping the ornaments. You see, my obsessive-compulsive nature is in full force when it comes to stowing away Christmas ornaments and associated paraphernalia. Trust me, this was a well-orchestrated decorating plan. My mother always just crammed our ornaments into a box, if they got broken, well that's too bad. Not at my house! Each is kept in its original box or something suitable to protect it. My grandmother would jump for glee (or at least grin a little) if she saw how much tissue paper I used to protect my valuable little memories.Our tree is smaller than others before, so I didn't use all of my ornaments and retired a few of my others. I am enthralled with vintage and vintagesque glass ornaments, so our tree is donning many of them. A simple bow on top and I think we have the most perfect three ever (to grace this house.) I would put her up against the Whitehouse or Rockefeller Center trees any day. Try me!

Saturday night I thought about going to see "The Chronicles of Narnia". I thought about doing more Christmas shopping. I even considered going to the bookstore again. What I did, however, was clean house in hopes that I would have a relaxing Sunday as a result. Cynical didn't follow suit, so he had a whole list of chores waiting for him when he woke up! Heee. Heeee. Heeee.

Sunday meant knocking even more items off my "to do" list.

Wrap gifts. Check.

Polish shoes. Check. (Yes, I polish my shoes. My father beams with joy when he hears me say this.)

Run last minute errands to pick up necessities including gift bags, tins, tissue paper and Mountain Dew. Check.

Con Cynical into assisting me in baking 51 (yes 51) cookies for a trade tomorrow after work. Check.

Call baking guru (Queen of Cool) to reaffirm that cookies were indeed supposed to be mushy and lumpy. Check.

Begin knitting last project for gift-giving. Check.

Attempt to load blog pictures, lose them, curse for a few minutes and then load them again after realizing that wasn't very Christmasy of me. Check.

Talk to brother who wants to stay at my house over holidays. Check.

Have minor panic attack that my brother wants to stay at my house. Check.

Buy new down alternative comforter for bed. Check.

Put it on bed and gloat over how cozy it looks. Check.

Blog about my weekend and realize upon reading it that I didn't once mention that I haven't been tempted to snoop for my Christmas goodies. Check.Photos from top to bottom include our finished masterpiece, a shot from the tree lot, various photos of my favorite ornaments, yummy Monster cookies and a shot of Cooper, exhausted after a long weekend of swatting at ornaments, fighting the other cats for prime "warm" spots on the couch and attempts to trip me as I carried boxes of ornaments.