As soon as Mark can convince Heath to call it a day, we will be eating ice cream and watching the holiday classic, Christmas Vacation. Christmas time is officially here.
We got a call this evening from our sweet little neighbor who lives across the street. She wanted to let us know how lovely the outside of our house looks. I had a moment of paranoia and had to ask Mark if he thought she was being sarcastic, and truth be told, she is sitting over in her living room, staring out of her window, cursing the day we ever moved into this establishment. She also seemed to emphasize the word outside, so I was struck by the worry that she had seen through our front window and witnessed the bomb of toys that exploded over the course of the weekend.
Mark agreed. I am paranoid, and she was sincerely letting us know how fantastic our Festival of Lights is shining. It is truly bright, colorful, and beaming from a place of love. Our blow-up snowman, with his green mittens and candy cane, seems to proclaim, I don't care how environmentally-unfriendly I am. I'm Frosty, dammit. Just when you think the lights are red, then they are green, then blue, then white, then orange, then red again. Some twinkle. Some sparkle. And some just flat out scream.
And where did my resourceful husband stumble upon this collection of glad tidings holiday light hodgepodge? A dumpster, of course.
There's more where that came from, according to Mark. Looks like we're going Griswold all the way this year.
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