When we moved into our new house and offered to host Christmas (well, with all the different beliefs in our family, we call it Christmakkahwali) I envisioned a family trip to a tree farm where we'd drink cider and sit on bales of hay as we toured the farm to pick out our perfect tree. After the drive home, I imagined playing holiday music and the four of us wearing awful Christmas sweaters, while baking cookies and decorating the tree. In reality, it turns out that most tree farms are 45 minutes away and since we are short on time on weekends, I took the kids to a local farmer's market on Wednesday, dished out some serious cash for a pine needle-dropping tree and had to wait until after the kids were asleep to get it off the van roof with my husband. Thursday, with nary a CD player* working in the house, I had to look up holiday mixes on youtube and keep reminding Munchkin to turn away from the screen so we could decorate.
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