Genetics upheld

Hi, friends.  Check this out:

Do you see what I see ('cause you're not draped over my arms like our fiesty cat currently is, so I doubt you can hear what I hear)?  Yes, it's a Christmas tree decorated like a 2-year old.  But more importantly, it's proof perfect that my genetic material lives on through my youngest progeny, the one who likes me better and who already shows definite signs of being exactly like me.  Bless her unsuspecting heart.

This was my craft of the week that we put together after a quick visit to the dollar store for some sparkly stickers and a bit of painting on some extra butcher paper.  With tree dry and hung, it was all toddler-time in the decorating avenue.  I only offered a suggestion ONE time (obviously, I held back as I'm good at offering suggestions when things DON'T LINE UP JUST SO!), banishing myself across the house where I could watch her work and listen to her rendition of Away in a Manger (on a loop) while she stickered it up. 

I abhor decorating for Christmas.  Absolutely hate it.  In part, the reason for this is that no matter what I do, everything turns out looking like this: toddler-esque.  Adorable when #2 proudly works on it.  Wretched when this is all I can produce. 

I would be perfectly happy if this was the entirety of our Christmas decorating this year.  And, as this is currently still affixed to the wee one's bedroom door, I'm sure she'd be cool with the efficiency of wrapped presents on her doorstep come December 25th. 

In other Christmas news, #1 refuses to give up the magical notion of Santa Claus in favor of a more literal one.  She understands that leprechauns, unicorns, the Easter Bunny, and elves are imaginary, but as she stated to me once recently "Nope, Santa Claus is still real."  She obviously inherited her dreamer genes from the boy.