Way more blood.
An incessant internal dialogue which rarely ventured far from the simple question, "Why?"
Yes, folks, the Christmas decorating season is
Yesterday I attempted to hoist the 42
As my daughter played video games in the adjacent room, I teetered atop dining room chairs straining to untwist, uncoil and arrange tangled-up lights, garlands, old Santa Clauses and strings of
After uttering several unsavory words under my breath--lest Chesapeake Bay Daughter hear me--I watched in slow-motion horror as a strand of extra large, white lights plummeted to the floor, taking a stuffed Santa Claus or two down with it as it fell. I was holding on
At least not at Christmas.
Using my cat-like reflexes, I grabbed those plummeting lights with my left hand before they hit the ground, but as I grasped and squeezed, an extra-large bulb cut
Blah blah blah, there was bleeding and cussing and bandaids and Santa Clauses and garlands and stars and lights. And tourniquets.
p.s. I haven't even begun the arduous project of toting the bin which contains the qwazillion parts and pieces of an 8-foot artificial Christmas tree up the narrow steps from the basement.
We won't talk about assembling it once it's upstairs. Nor about putting on the tangled lights once it's assembled.
Click here to read about last year's efforts to put up outdoor lights, which is
Does Martha Stewart ever stand on dining room chairs?