A rite of passage

Busy day, busy day.

Spent the morning rotating clothes out from under every bed in the house and unused dresser drawer out into the storage shed, or donation bags if Evie had grown out of them.  Tedious job, but kind of a little celebration that we're done breeding every time I do it.  Both girls enjoy "helping" with the process, making me even more glad that there will be no more little helpers.

Then I killed a conifer for Christ.  Had to be done, the house was beginning to take on the aroma of windows closed far too long and winter funk settling in.  Tree is up, ornaments have been put on it.  And then taken down by helpers.  Then put up.  Then taken down.  And on and on.  Christmas crap is spread strategically around the place so that it looks as though an elf puked in here.

As I was settling in, Mike made a smart comment about my socks.  And without putting too much thought into it (after HE refused to touch them), I asked Layla to take them off.  Which she gleefully did.  A simple rite of passage, and one that she may have enjoyed today.   And perhaps the next few times that I ask her, but she isn't going to think it's too swell in another 6 years.  She is, however, starting to make herself useful and pull some weight around here.  She can also get me a soda from the fridge.  We had a dog that used to be able to do that.  He died.  I liked him better.  Anyway, I still remember pulling my dad's boots off.  Funny, the little things that you remember.

With Christmas tree lighting the way, and a loud toddler singing Go Diego, we took our Saturday romp to the living room.  Apparently Mike was about to call it quits when he couldn't take Layla chanting Fe Fi Fo Fum, over and over like our own little metronome.

Evie decapitated her first victim today.  Well, the first that we know of.  Luckily we discovered that it was a hit and it paid well.  It's going to be a very merry Christmas around here.