Oh Christmas tree

Growing up, Christmas tree procurement went like this... Bob and Betty would load Peter and I in "Dad's car" (a.k.a. The Jeep), attach the trailer (sides by Bob) and drive to some dairy farm in Perkins. We'd pull in front of a decrepit looking white clapboard house, Dad would knock on the porch door and talk to a guy wearing a waffled long underwear top and suspenders. Hands would shake and he'd come back the car. 

"Same price. Ten bucks."

We'd drive down a dirt access road, next to an field filled with neglected evergreens, rolling to a stop 300 yards from the house. We'd pile out, donned in Sorels, puffy snow pants and Columbia Bugaboos (except for our teen years, when we were too cool to wear such practical nonsense and instead shivered in faux Guess jeans, Starter jackets and Nike high tops).

*See below for dog details...

Then we'd spend a ridiculous amount of time tromping around, stumbling over sappy stumps and crunchy, brown boggy field grass, pointing at various Charlie Brown conifers. Eventually Mom would make a decision (key = eventually), and Dad would kneel in his Levis (he has forever been too cool for snow pants) and saw away at the sad, but loved, little tree, handing off the blade so my brother and I could take a few draws.

Then, we'd do it all over, looking for Grandma's tree. 

And, sometimes, again, looking for a St. Paul tree. (The best years were the ones when the St. Paulers came too - tromping with us.)

Peter and I would be assigned dragging duties and we'd lug two, sometimes three, pokey trees back to the trailer, where numerous Dad ropes awaited. 

(Ever seen an engineer secure a Christmas tree to a trailer? No? Let me know if you have an hour or two and I'll bring Bob over...) 

Most years our treat wasn't a traditional hot chocolate but a McDonald's eggnog shake.

This year's scenario was a titch different. My mom and dad bought a beautiful Fraser fir from a highway lot. Will and I loaded Maizey into "Dad's car" (a.k.a. The Jeep) and drove (sans trailer) to yuppy Broadview tree farm in Highland.

We piled out, stopping to say hello to three sad looking pigmy goats.

Then, joined other city-folk for a tractor ride to the not-so-sad-looking evergreens. (Admittedly, I was hoping for a horse-drawn sleigh, but, no such luck.)

And, then we tromped.

Will and I had less trouble with the stumbling.

Maizey spent half the time like this.

I blame the boots.

She blames me.

After lots of walking (but WAY less than Betty used to make us do)...

(I swear)

We found it!

Will knelt in his Levis,

and attempted to hand off the blade to Maizey.

Who wasn't clear on the process.

Or, conveniently ambivalent.

Timber!

Dragging duties were a bit confusing as well.

"You want me to do what????"

Thanks, Will...

Tractor ride back to the base. 

Cold little noses...

Ever seen a finance guy secure a Christmas tree to a Jeep? No? Me either. (wink, wink)

And done.

Like I often say, the more things change the more they stay the same.
At least some things...
(This tree cost $43 and was not so Charlie-Brown-esque.)

And yes, Maizey, I promise to introduce the eggnog shake next year.

*No. Not our dog. We weren't allowed to have a dog growing up. This is the dog I fell in love with (a few years prior) and requested from Santa. I got a keyboard and spent Christmas morning crying on the stairs. My mother still laments. We all still remember. Note to self: get the kid the dog.

15 Months, 5 Days

Okay. I'll say it. I suck at scrapbooking. I tell good stories, am great at documenting via photo, am so-so at blogging, I use Facebook and Instagram regularly but when it comes to glue-stick and archival ink scrapbooking, I get a D. Maybe a D minus. 

I made a good faith effort when Maizey was born. I registered for a baby book, then returned it and searched for the perfect alternative. Many hours online and $100+ later I was the proud owner of a beautiful scrapbook. A beautiful, empty scrapbook. Fifteen months later it's just as pretty and only slightly less empty.

I have heaps of momentos just sitting in a bag. Both the book and bag have made multiple trips North, accompanied by my determination to "work on the baby book while grandma watches the baby." False determination. Why sit alone, glue-stick in hand, while my mom and my daughter blow bubbles in a yard backing up to Lake Michigan? I'd be so busy preserving memories that I'd miss out on making new ones.

So, here I sit. With an empty scrapbook, a bag of cards, doctor's notes and photos, and a lot of guilt. This blog is Maizey's baby book. Not perfect, but neither is my life, or me. Someday I'll use a blog-book making service like blurb to preserve these entries in hard-copy form. Maybe in the meantime I'll take my mom's advice and start using a memory file system - at least it's a step up from the bag, right? And, I'll try to squirrel away some time to post photos AND memories on this public forum.

Sooo... in that spirit, here's the latest from Miss Maizey.

Her fifteen month appointment was October 15, 2012. She received three vaccinations (DTaP, Hep A and Flu), measured 31" long (90%), 24 lbs. 10 oz. (90-95%) and had a 19" melon (95-98%). She screamed from the second the nurse walked in until she left. Who knew having a tape measure around your cranium was so painful/traumatizing.

She took her first true steps the weekend I was in Chicago. September 9. She was 13 months, 11 days old. Now she runs. And squats. And rolls. And twirls. 

She has heaps of teeth. Four fronts on top, three on the bottom, and a slew of molars.

She talks a blue streak. Favorite words? Mama. Dada. No. Puppy. Shoes. Socks. Tree. Sassy. Cheese. Banana. Apple. Choo choo. Favorite phrases? Where is she? (Uttered while holding upturned hands below her chin.) and  Not nice. (Emphatically stated as she wails on Kip with her sippy cup.) She knows animals sounds for sheep, horse, owl, dog, elephant and pig. When prompted she'll repeat just about anything: I love you. Thank you. Swimming. Trick or Treat...

We go to Milford Library Story Hour on Tuesday mornings, Tumbling Tots at the Apollo Center on Thursday mornings (where she has loves the car, bubbles and stamps, but has a love-hate relationship with the parachute) and YMCA swim lessons on Thursday nights. She's made friends at these activities -  Andrew (and Cindy), Sam (and Heather), Hannah (and Emily), Anthony (and Karen).

Her favorite toys are books. She reads in her crib, turning the pages and babbling away. She also likes legos, balls, her Fisher Price farm and going outside. Her early infatuation was birds. Now it's trains. And people. And the Kensington Farm.

She loves cheese, plain yogurt, macaroni and cheese, blueberries, eggs, waffles, Mr. Graham Cracker and Halloween candy. She drinks water and milk, and still loves to nurse at least once a day.

She doesn't watch television, and really has no interest, except for the occasional 3 minute Elmo infatuation (a lame attempt to distract her when I'm at my wits end). 

For the most part she wears 18 month clothing. Size 4-4.5 shoes.

She wakes up between 7:30-8:30 a.m. We're currently transitioning between one and two naps a day. She take a bath every night (expect swim nights or when she's too tired from day care) and is usually asleep by 7:30 p.m.

Simply put? She's wonderful.

(And will undoubtedly hate me at 15, when her boyfriend stumbles upon this, her life record, online.)

That'll do, Pig

Since yesterday's weather was such a bummer, our costume post below consists of shots taken last weekend, prior to and at Milford's downtown trick-or-treat event. You may remember last year, when we took on the event with a slew of North Facers and their offspring. This year, we went it alone. 

 The farmer and his pig.

And, proof I exist.

Though my daughter is more focused on falling leaves. 

We employed the wagon -

 - a key move.

And we skipped the snaking line,

instead providing entertainment for the waiters.

Maizey loved it.

There were a few photo ops. 

And then, in true Election Season fashion, Miss Piggy worked the crowd,
marching up and down the line, waving.

Love.

 True love.

 And, pure exhaustion.

 At least we have a family photo.

(Our official shoot was postponed, thanks to Superstorm Sandy.)