Tis the season for multiple homicides, fa la la la la, la la la

Today kicked off Happy Family Time, which is to say that hubby has a few days off and it finally feels like Christmas. I had big plans for today - we were going to wake up late, have some waffles and bacon, and go out and let our combined bonuses buy us a replacement for our tv, which is 20" and has a weird permanent splash of orange in the bottom left corner. Possibly we were going to have a group nap, and we were definitely going to get the tree up and decorated before the 23rd of December for once in our lives.

Naturally that meant the toddler woke up early and crabby, we didn't get waffles OR bacon, and we didn't get anywhere close to leaving the house. Other than hubby, who fled the scene (ostensibly to borrow a saw to saw off the bottom off the Christmas tree, because I know we have one but do you think I can fucking find it?) when I bellowed at our whiny 2 year old, "WE. ARE. HAVING. HAPPY FAMILY TIME!"

Our group nap was interrupted by an unannounced visit from the inlaws, who brought brightly wrapped presents for our son and then told him he couldn't open them. Of course. Because toddlers totally get that, right?

Anyway. Somewhere around then I pulled my own head out of my ass and decided to just roll with the punches, and it didn't even have anything to do with alcohol. (Though it might have had something to do with flogging my MIL through a snowy field pulling a 40-lb toddler on the sled she brought him, because I was *ahem* too busy taking pictures to pull him myself. Warmed my heart to see her getting some exercise, I tell ya.) Happy Family Time did indeed turn into actual happy family time, and I even got some cookies baked.

And we got the tree up on the 20th. SCORE.

I swear she doesn't have a heart condition