Who would've thought that at the age of 53, my living room would still look like this four days after Christmas. I always thought that by this age, I would have a beautiful Victorian Christmas tree or something with matching gifts placed neatly and strategically beneath it--more for asthetics than actual gifts.
But, here we are, raising our little munchkin. Celebrating Jesus' birthday like we years ago the first time around. And, even though the mess bugs me, I couldn't even consider the alternative.
Maybe I'll have a Victorian Christmas tree in heaven.
