Christmas time is wonderful. And Christmas trees are wonderful too.
I mean they have their uses.
But what I really love is putting the tree up with my family. Don't blush or roll your eyes or feel uncomfortable or anything. If it's cheesy, at least it's honest.
We went to the local memorial day event. We did the pony ride and the moon bounce. We climbed all over a fire truck. We ground up some chicken feed. We licked ice cream cones. We stood with our hands over our hearts during the National Anthem. But we didn't stay for the parade. Instead we raced home to eat lunch with Willy. Then we went swimming all afternoon, while Willy studied in the shade.
Chicken Feed? You're probably thinking there was some sort of petting zoo. But noooooo. There were just a bunch of parents walking around with bags full of cracked corn. I was trying to avoid dishing out 50 cents so I could tote a similar bag. No luck. Granted, cracking the corn was fun, only afterwards it left a 'now what' on Isabella's face. "Where's the chickens?", She asked me. "I don't know. Maybe they got lost.", I said. "I know", she said, "let's pretend these sticks are chickens." So all the way home, she fed the chickens. For two miles she called to me"Wait mom! Wait while I feed these chickens." It was so hot and muggy I didn't think we'd ever make it home. At one point she was running to catch up to me and she fell. "Did you hurt yourself", I asked, "looks like you dropped your stick." "No mom, I dropped my chicken." Oh.
Just yesterday Willy told me he got his final grade back for Constitution Law. "Wow", I said," How do you feel about that?" He's ambivalent. It's the worst grade he's ever got in twenty years of school. On the other hand he's finished with school. Well Ding Dong the Witch is dead, I say. Congratulations, now go pass the BAR*.
Here's me trying to take a picture, guard our stroller, stay within shouting distance of two children, and fly a kite. ahh, I promise that kite was up! Obviously getting a picture of the pretty cherry blossoms was beyond my generation x abilites.
Isabella. The Pixie. 
I think next year we'll just do popsicles (like Willy's cousins). Not that there's anything wrong with green tulip sugar cookies. What a classic touch the red sprinkles add. Never say nauseating. Okay, alright- they tasted just fine and if it looked like we severed an artery... well that's another matter. Doesn't Buggy look like a pixie?
It seems wrong to waste money on a holiday like Valentines. Don't misunderstand me, I'm all for chocolates and flowers and candlelight and Casablanca and being alone with Willy. But I would prefer not or consumerize my romance or limit my gift getting to one day a year. I just contradicted myself, right? Well I do like that Willy buys me flowers and chocolates all year long, spontaneously because he loves me! In return he gets dinner and... the oth
er stuff frequently.
That said it wouldn't be a holiday if Willy didn't sift through all the cards at Hallmark for the one card that says: I love you more today than I loved you yesterday. Over the last six years I've grown accustomed these tributes. I expect them. They are my due. I wake up early and race to the kitchen table and with itchy fingers I reach for my card.
Last year Willy was really busy and stressed out. In other words he forgot. This year there was no card on the table again. There's one word for that kind of lip quivering sadness: Bereft. When I told Willy how I felt he grinned. I didn't notice through my tears. Otherwise I would have punched him. Lightly, I have it on good authority violence doesn't solve anything.
Minutes later, I found my card, and one for each of our children, on our unmade bed. To which I squealed:
No, I love you more today than I loved you yesterday.
And then followed it up, in an age appropriate voice, with:
Ah, Hon'-Next year could you make the bed too?
