Fake vs Real

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So in this episode of The Red Thing we discover that not only can Magic Scarves be used as clothing or accessories or even sleeping bags, they can also be used as household decorations. Garland! This is exciting because I know quite a few people who are allergic to pine and can't use the real stuff at Christmas. And, let's face it, who wants to be picking up all the little glittery specks that fall from the fake stuff? But let's back this garland train up for one second. You should know that if I were suddenly diagnosed with a pine allergy, I might just have to be put on suicide watch. If my child develops a similar allergy I would considering putting him back where he came from. I don't use real garland because I think it's probably kind of expensive but I do have a real Christmas tree. I need my tree to be shedding needles and slurping water and dripping with authentic pine scent. I want to cry for people who have to sport fake trees because of their congestion and snotty noses. Although, if it were me, I would probably just buy myself a real tree and wear a surgical mask for three weeks. Nothing--and I seriously mean nothing--smells more like Christmas than a pine tree that hasn't been stuffed in the attic all year. I've seen some really nice looking synthetic trees so it's not that I think fake trees are hideous or anything...they just don't SMELL the same. I mean we're talking about the difference between the scent of the forest and the scent of mothballs. Right? Back to the garland though. It's red and festive and fuzzy and does not drop a single speck of glitter or pine needles. This is perfect for both the Fake Tree Consumer and the Pine Murderer. The Pine Murderer (a.k.a. Me) is busy vacuuming up the needles from her tree and cannot even think about vacuuming underneath the garland as well. The Fake Tree Consumer is allergic to real trees and therefore is also allergic to real garland. And if given the choice between fake garland and The Red Thing, I'm willing to put a bet that Fake Tree Consumer is going to see the beauty in the Magic Garlarf. Can't you see the scene unfolding in your heads. You're at your husband's work Christmas party and That One Woman You Have A Hard Time Standing Because Her Husband Got That Really Good Promotion And A Huge Christmas Bonus And Yours Got No Promotion And A Ham approaches you.*

You: Gorgeous shoes, Hilda. Wherever did you get them? (Because in these sorts of scenes we always talk like we are from the 1930's.)

Hilda: They're Manolo Blahniks. I bought them with my husband's Christmas bonus.
You: Oh how wonderful. We fed the hungry with my husband's Christmas bonus.
Hilda: Your husband got a ham.

You: My point exactly.
Hilda: Interesting scarf. It's so, bohemian. Wherever did you find it?

You: Well, actually, I purchased it on the Internet. It came highly recommended. From a blog I read.

Hilda: You read blogs, how quaint.

You: Yes. I am well learned, indeed. (Pronounced learn-ed)

Hilda: It's very fuzzy and large and, if I may, seems rather impractical.

You: Impractical? Humph. How little you know. It doubles as my garland! (Turn quickly on heels that did not cost $900. Flip scarf over shoulder dramatically.)

*This scene is completely fictional. I know no one named Hilda. Additionally, my husband works at a church that employs himself and a secretary. To my knowledge, neither Troy nor I nor the secretary nor her husband wear Manolo Blahniks.

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My baby is 20 months old today. It seems like 20 months is a really big deal. I'm not sure why. I'd like to remember that this was the age that he started really talking. I feel like we're on the brink of an eruption of verbal skills. I can hear it bubbling just under the surface as a series of babbles and attempts. I'd like to forget that this was the age that he became obsessed with his own boogers. He puts his fingers in his nose all the time and, since he's got a cold right now, they often come out bearing gifts. Apparently he's decided he's not a fan of boogers because he holds them out to me, stuck precariously on the end of a stubby digit. This morning we were driving and he held a giant one out to me as if to say, "Mommy, I'm going to show you just how much I love you by giving you this wonderfully green extension of my own self." I had nowhere to put the nugget. I encouraged him to just hang on to it for a second but clearly that wasn't happening. He whimpered like he'd caught the plague. The whimpering turned into a groan followed by a, "MAAAMMMMAAAA!" I held my hand back toward him. "Give it to me. Give me the booger." He wiped it happily into the palm of my hand. He smiled and settled back into his car seat. Moments later he shoved his finger back up his nose to look for more sticky wonderment. I drove the rest of the way home with his big, green, wet booger sitting there staring at me. Yah. That's pretty much what it's like to be a mom. You give birth to them, they wipe their boogers on your hand, and twentysome years later they dance with you at their wedding.

And still I find myself praying, on a daily basis, "Thank you so much for the privilege of being this boy's mother." I have a son! And he wants me to hold his boogers. It just doesn't get better than that. Happy 20 months, Garrett.