This is how Christmas dreams end up:

The week before Christmas it was a balmy sixty-something degrees in Dallas. My mother and sister flew in to spend the holidays with us.

Last Tuesday, E decided it was time for L to undertake the rite of passage every child embarks on during the first memorable Christmas holiday of their lives. It was time to meet Santa.

It took us all of four seconds after the artificial tree debacle to pendulum swing all the way back to wanting a real tree. E said she knew of a tree lot near our house, so last night we packed up the car and headed over there.

Last weekend began our quest for a Christmas tree. E and I have both used real trees for quite some time now, including the last few years while we’ve been together. This year, for the sake of everyone’s allergies, we decided to purchase the first fake (excuse me, “artificial”) tree either of us have had since the 1980s.