The Christmas Tree goes up.

You know what really says Christmas to me? Having a real tree at Christmas time. It's the smell of a pine tree in a loungeroom. Sure, they are messy, and wonky, and getting more and more expensive, but the smell! It brings me Christmas cheer.

We did some preliminary decorating when Fixit first brought the tree home. While he sawed off excess branches so we could fit it in a pot, I found some pretty fabric for the underlay and Cherub got the stuff together for a circular track round the outside.



Then we waited till after dinner and bath, and the whole family including Nell began the decorating process.



Nell is very good for tying fiddly string onto ornaments and unravelling tangled fairy lights. The boys are good at hanging baubles (up to a certain height of course), and Fixit is good for reaching up high and plugging stuff in. I float around filling gaps and directing operations.



Bertie Wooster, however, is good for nothing.



Climber took a hand in the photography, behind and in front of the camera. This is him doubling as a particularly rosy-cheeked elf. I'm pretty sure he has 5th disease (also called parvovirus or slapped face/cheek.) He's absolutely fine, and I would like to reassure everyone that no actual slapping was responsible for this face:



There was of course discussion about who should put the star on. Cherub had been eyeing it off ever since I bought it last week, and wasn't going to let any height requirements enter the agenda.



In the end we had a sort of mid-air passing ceremony so that both boys did the star. This montage shows the action, but in a strange order: basically start at the top on the right hand side and go down that column, then go the middle top and down then the left.



The Cherub was also facing health issues, he gagged on his dinner (he had this mean mother telling him to get on with it, just eat that last mouthful for goodnessakes) which caused him to bomit it back up and he was heard to repeat pathetically many times during that evening I don't like bomiting. Well, who does? And maybe just maybe the bomit wasn't all the faultmeanmother, as his guts have been acting up all weekend (causing me to thank my stars that he has finally learnt the ancient art of wiping his own bottom). Nell captured this last photo of us; rather than saying Happy Christmas! or even cheese! we are all saying Cherub farted!!, and if you look at his pleased but slightly guilty face you'll know it's true.