I have three favorite days each year: the day we go apple picking, the day we get our Christmas tree, and Christmas Eve. Those are the things I most look forward to doing all year long. It has a lot to do with the fact that those days are completely devoted to family time, but it also has to do with tradition, as we do the exact same thing each year.

This year, though, our Christmas tree gathering turned into a weekend-long event, which I think we’ve decided will be our new tradition.

We always get our tree the weekend after Thanksgiving. So, Friday morning, we kicked out our out-of-town family, allowing us to have a 3 full days to ourselves. That was smart decision #1.

Then, we went to get a tree before Finn’s nap that Friday. It is our first Christmas in our new home. So, naturally, we wanted to see just how big of a tree we could get. “That one?!” I’d say, pointing at a 20-footer. Trouble is, we’d planned to measure our new ceiling height but forgot. Oops.

Instead, we did the very scientific calculation of having a tall-ish tree lot guy raise his hands in the air, illustrating that the tree we wanted is likely somewhere around 9′. “Sure, that’ll work,” we said.

It almost didn’t. For all of the family-centered conviviality that weekend, our marriage almost didn’t survive the few minutes between when we realized that we’d have to carry a 9′ tree in ourselves and when the tree was finally, haphazardly, in the stand. Luckily, we decided to do that part of the job while Finn napped. Smart decision #2.

This also meant that, when he woke up, we got to surprise him with a “twee” that takes up roughly half of our upstairs living room. “Surprise, Finn! I hope you didn’t expect to move around a lot, this holiday season!”

Actually, it was a little cuter than that:

TREE VIDEO

We left the tree to fall out overnight on Friday. We’ve realized that our trees are, generally, much happier when they get a chance to acclimate before we string 1,000 lights on them.

Saturday, we did the stringing. And this is the part that I really, reallllllly love. Our tree-trimming tradition has three essential elements: the tree (of course), Home Alone, and delivery pizza–“My very own cheese pizza!”

We started in the afternoon, and we spent a couple of hours just doing the lights. There may have been some foul language used, as lights worked–and then didn’t–and then worked again. But we resolved to get the tree perfectly lit before the pizza arrived, and we did just that.

All the while, Finn did an excellent job entertaining himself and letting his mommies work. Mostly, he relocated all of his toys to a different part of the house, as I think he thought there was a distinct possibility that the tree would either eat–or at least overtake–his toy stash.

He also played at our feet, used wrapping paper tubes as swords in an imaginary battle, and helped–a little bit.

We stopped for pizza and Home Alone, which Finn seemed to really enjoy.  He does a mean Kevin-just-putting-on-his-dad’s-aftershave-scream.

Then, we started ornament-ing, only to realize that Finn was going to take off every single one that we put on. So, we paused the tree-trimming and got the little bugger to bed, allowing us to trim in peace. Smart decision #3.

Cause here’s the thing with toddlers: You want them to THINK they’ve been involved, but you don’t actually want them to be involved. This, we’re learning.

Still, our weekend-long decorating adventure was uber wonderful–probably the best family weekend we’ve had all year. And so, I don’t really mind drawing out the process, using our decking the halls as an excuse to stay inside all weekend–in our pjs, of course–and eat lots of pizza in the light of a tree.

Until that perfectly-lit tree blows a fuse–twice. But that’s another story.

Like most folks, we are waist-deep in Holiday-ness.  Thanksgiving kicked off a season of food and festivities and family and–even though we’re basking in the light of the Christmas tree, already–I want to share a bit about our turkey day.

It was our first Thanksgiving in our first home. So, that made it particularly special. It was also the first Thanksgiving at which Finn could chow down on a turkey leg. That was pretty cool, too.

My father always comes for Thanksgiving week. He’s what most people would call–how do I say this generously–an anti-social hermit hippie. Thanksgiving is the only holiday he even acknowledges, and it’s the only one we spend with him. But that also means that we generally cater to his wish to dine with only us. While there’s something nice about have a low-key dinner with Sona, my dad, and I all sitting around the table unshowered and in our PJs, there’s also something convivial about having a larger group, especially now that Finn is in the picture.

It’s important to me that Finn remember that holidays were full of loved ones. I grew up in a pretty insular family, and I don’t want Finn to remember small, tame holiday meals. I want him to remember large, raucous, sometimes maddening, but usually wonderful, holiday memories.

So, this year, we invited some of Sona’s family, too, and we were excited to host a small house full.

I got a fresh turkey from our favorite neighborhood deli.

The thermometer broke; the turkey was still one of the best, yet.

I made Sona iron napkins.

Finn slept through the first half of the meal, which is exactly what we’d planned, despite Pap’s protest. “Do you want his mothers to enjoy the meal they labored over for two days or not?”

When he did wake up, Finn ate Thanksgiving dinner like it was his job. And then he did again for two more days.

We had the kitchen cleaned in record time.

Also, GRAVY. I was thankful for a lot, this year, but maybe most thankful for the gravy.