What I mean is, it’s hall-decking time in the (formerly known as) Senour house! And in the immortal words of my sweet godson, Mikey:
“Balls to the walls, Grandad?”
“Yes Mikey, that’s what they tell me.”
Confused? You ought to be. (Lizzie just texted me that I basically got everything about this story wrong. Including this crucial ditty. Caution: f-bombs. Times a million.)
But the punchline is this: my Advent-loving, liturgically accurate husband has agreed to lift our perennial ban on early Christmas decor since we are leaving ze country shortly after Epiphany this year, which means I get to bust out my box of Dollar Store delights about 3.5 weeks early.
Game on, Denver.
This year, we’ll be entertaining 75% of my extended family for Christmas week in our humble abode, which is rapidly emptying of any and all furniture and decor. To compensate, I plan to string party lights from every available surface and compensate for an appalling lack of pillows and mattresses with plenty of gluvine and trays of mini quiches from Costco.
Let the games begin.
*p.s. My dad had a really unfortunate verbal misstep about 3 Christmases ago that my sweet nephew kindly repeated to the rest of us. Every year henceforth, when mom and dad bust out the over-sized glass and plastic ornaments that are (inexplicably) tacked to every wall and dangled from every light fixture in the home, well…the rest is history.)
p.p.s. Some encouragement and edification in the midst of my almost entirely frivolous postings for the past, oh, month or so. And we’re not pregnant.