Another Merry Christmas Tree

It’s December, which means it’s time for a Christmas Tree Saga from yours truly. But honestly, the drama just wasn’t there, this year, even though I chose a) the biggest tree on the lot and certainly b) the tallest of our short lives.

I dressed for the occasion

We rocked up the other day and it was still November because Husband’s travel meant he’d be away the first two weekends in December. Last year the road to perdition was muddy as fuck but being at the beginning of the festive season meant other people would get the muddy end of the stick, er trunk. Anyhoo, it was glorious outside and the kids ran around after critiquing the cider.

Aside from choosing the mobile phone tower, again, I felt like there was less to choose from, this year. In two years it looks like there’ll be a bumper crop, but I cast my eye back to the welcoming scene at the door and Husband inwardly groaned, his back twinged in anticipation. 

No, not that one

It was pre-cut and trying to catch our attention from the get-go with that seductive pose. The kids ran off the sling-shot while Husband and I had a war of eye-rolls.

Someone copped an inadvertent apple in the nuts

Everyone came to investigate and agreed that save for the mobile phone tower, it probably was, or had been, the tallest tree on the lot. The potential problem would be baling.

And carrying.

And getting it home.

But not necessarily in that order.

Anyhoo, we made it! The tree is up, no divorce in sight, and I even managed to get a few lights close to the top,

 though the star never had a chance.

Merry Christmas, y’all!

So, so sad.

I did a body test at the gym the other day, and the moral of the story is that I need to eat more, and when I work out, I need to eat *even more* more. I try to eat real food (when I don’t have my period) most of the time, so that means eating every few hours or so, just so I can get in all the cals my body needs so it doesn’t think it’s dying and massively slow down the metabolism to survive. I’m not actually hungry, but I need to keep shovelling it in to “stretch my stomach” (true story). I’m sad from eating.
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On the flip side, Husband said that is why Dwayne “THE FUCKING ROCK” Johnson looks so good.
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So there is hope for me yet.