I was going to work these into the rest of Twas the Night Before Christmas -something about
clutter clatter on the roof & our own little St Nick but maybe another night when it's not late & I didn't get beat up at work (figuratively of course) & didn't sit through have the privilege of attending the Christmas Pageant.
My husband's dearest wish is access to a cherry picker and/or money for professional light-people to tackle the as-yet-unmolested roof line so as to single-handedly blow the Mid-Western power grid.
At least the inflatables are all in the backyard.
Griswald, Clark Griswald
Are we really down to only three inflatables? Tragedy!
Did I make him wear the Christmas sweater again? Hell yes!
Meanest mom in the world.
But it's probably the last year I'll be able to Enforce The Cute.
And lest my girl not get any post time, here she is... I've been following her around with the camera trying to get an oscar-worthy clip to make my Great Reveal, but alas, no. Will just have to keep you in suspense. This, in the interim, is 16 seconds of her dancing in front of the oven in PJs (again?! still?!) and Morning Hair... . She thinks her reflection is a RIOT. Please ignore the clutter & dirty windows.