"Can you put some water on for brown rice and heat the oven to 350 please?"I was planning to make pan-seared tilapia over brown rice with baked Brussels sprouts and bacon. Yum. Her response was quick, and unexpected:
"Our tree fell over. Have to deal with that right now."I have to admit, I laughed a little when I read that. Have to deal with that right now? Ya think? A classic line from my straight man. When I got off the bus, a stunned Peanut met me at the corner. "Daddy, you're NOT going to believe this." She escorted me inside. My little girl was beside herself. But not because of this:
|Yes. That's My Director working on the tree|
while I snap pictures for the blog. Priorities.
Peanut was bordering on manic because of this:
|The Elf was IN the tree. Drama.|
"I'm really worried about Googily. What if we pick him up and he loses his magic?"Imagine you come home from work and your living room is an active crime scene. You immediately become Gil Grissom:
|He's a bright guy.|
"No one panic. Peanut, get me the tongs I use for grilling."But she had her doubts.
"What if his magic transfers to the tongs and THEY fly back to Santa? Then you'll need new ones."Seriously? No one questions Gil Grissom. How the hell do I respond to THAT? (While I try to conjure up an adequate response, let's pause a moment to soak up Peanut's cuteness here. She is totally sold on the whole Santa thing and I love it. The Elf too, obviously. Ah, the wonder and innocence of childhood. Some might argue we're perpetuating a huge lie. But that's a topic for another blog post.)
Enter My Director, who didn't question my idea. She immediately put the tongs plan into motion:
|Every little thing she does is magic.|
(Ya see what I did there?)
"If we don't get this tree back up, we might just have to cancel Christmas."Without skipping a beat, she fired back:
"Then I guess we'll just have to do Hannukah."What makes that line even more hilarious is Peanut's top request from Santa this year: An American Girl doll. (Yes, we've entered THAT realm.) But she wants a specific one. Not the one that looks like her or My Director. No. She wants Rebecca Rubin:
Rebecca is Jewish. We, in case the giant fallen Christmas tree wasn't enough of a giveaway, are not. Oy vey.
As for Googily, he's still as magical as ever. He even managed to fly back and forth from the North Pole with his new accessory:
|Somehow I will cook dinner tonight|
without some crucial knives.
A fallen tree is much worse than what happened to our tree last year, as I wrote here.