My house is small....small enough that the Christmas tree takes up too much valuable space that is much needed over the holidays. Either a chair must be moved out of the living room, or the tree has to go down stairs into the basement. Which means that my Sweet Mama can't see the tree because she's in a wheelchair. A couple of years ago we decided to take her downstairs to see the tree and open gifts downstairs. Even with 4 men to assist her decent, it didn't go smoothly and although the disaster of tipping her out of it was averted, she was sufficiently traumatized to NEVER agree to that again.
This year is Foster Boy's first Christmas with us. He's a snoop. He rummages through the presents and likes to eat odd things. The other night while cozy in bed, I heard him take something off the table. I got up to find him on the living room floor about to tuck into a box of wooden matches.
Go given that Sweet Mama likes to see the tree, and Frenchie will eat everything underneath it, I opted for a petite tree this year, just big enough to fit into a metal pail on top of the old pine cabinet in the living room. Presents are neatly tucked out of the way of the snoopy lab and mum can enjoy when she visits. Poor Mama, her nursing home has an outbreak so they're all in quarantine lock down. Hoping she is sprung soon so she can do some shopping and visiting.
Because the Raz Man was in hospital for a few days last week, I set up the tree so it would greet him upon his return. After I put the fairy lights on I decided to give it a little trim, carelessly slicing through the electrical wires with my snippers, creating a large snap, crackle, pop, a blown fuse and a messed up pair of snippers. I foolishly left the snippers around and of course the eagle eye of The Raz Man saw the large melted indent in the blades and suspected that I'd done something careless in his absence.