Last night we got our Christmas tree purchased, brought home, in a stand and in the corner of the living room. We passed up the $60 tree lot in favor of the $24.88 tree lot. I was very picky about my tree, but the Puddin' was a very patient man and held them all up for my perusal. Puddin': "What about this one?"
Me: "It's too short. I don't want a tree that's shorter than I am."
Puddin': "Why? You want to be able to wear heels around the tree?"
Me: "Yes, I want to look up into the angel's eyes."
Connor has gotten deaf in his old age. The little dog lies on the sofa and I have to come downstairs and put my hands on him to wake him up and put him outside. So between being scared of the tree and not hearing so well, he was underfoot a lot. That dog always amazes me in his internal struggle between insatiable curiosity about the big scary thing and his crippling fear of it. So he wants to sit 6" from whatever is new and terrifying and look at it with intense distrust.
My current plan is to get the tree settled and covered in lights and then we can decorate it sometime next week. Many years running our tree would not get up until Christmas Eve night and I'm generally okay with that. It gives you something to do in all the anticipation.