I'm not sure if we'll ever chop down a Christmas tree again. The last time we trekked into the woods, we had a 9 month old Morgan. Maybe Scott and I are too practical and too frugal, too uptight to drag little ones into sub-zero temperatures for the now expensive "experience". But I'm okay with that.
Growing up, my Dad picked up a tree on the way home from work - there was no group decision. It just suddenly appeared in the garage, sitting in a bucket of water, until the day he strung the lights and Mom handed out the ornaments.
Born out of convenience, we've made a new tradition at a big box store. A real, live Fraser fir sits in our living room every December. Doesn't matter how it got there, does it?
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