On the 12th Day of Christmas...

our perfect tree came down. This is the sad part of the season. Our tree was the most beautiful tree we have ever had. I sat before it every night, or nearly, and looked at it, and the fire. Cozy, Christmassy, wonderful. But the new year has begun. Her needles are dried out and done. She barely smells like Noble Fir any more, even if you scratch the trunk to release the smell the way the tree people told us.

Benji and I put on Bing Crosby one last time and started pulling off the ornaments. We savored and wrapped and remembered. Then we put the ornaments in their special box, padded them with Christmas stockings, packed the lights on top and put them away. I took all the beautiful Christmas cards off the mantle--couldn't bear to throw them away--pictures of gorgeous children, the artwork of friends, holiday wishes. I put them in a bunch with a strong rubber band and saved them, too.

It is time to dive into 2010!

Regrets?

Our favorite Christmas tree vendor is back at the bottom of the hill, making our whole neighborhood smell like a stand of Oregon pines.

I took the boys down to smell them, and to check out our prospects, even if we don't buy for two more weeks.

The air is cool, inside the fence it smelled like the country, and the boys raced around the temporary set-up like it was a real forest, so happy.

Is it a mistake to raise boys in a city?

Do they need a farm, a ranch, an ocean, a mountain? Or will they be OK?

Tell me all you mamas of boys out there. Or wives of woodsy men. Or sisters of mountain climbers and adventurers.

What do you think?