If you're a regular reader or if you follow me on Instagram, you'd know the color of my Christmas tree is a relentless and unapologetic pink.
It's just decorated with silver balls at this point. It needs something else. Maybe turquoise or gold or emerald. Maybe ribbon? What do you think?
Now, whenever some people see my pink Christmas tree, they ask, "Do your boys mind?" This strikes me as an incredibly silly question because...
1. It's MY tree. It's not like I bought it for them and insisted on a color they didn't want.
2. A person's gender is not defined by colors. It's just pink. It doesn't threaten their boy-ness.
3. Vito's favorite color is pink so he loves the tree.
Speaking of gender, I had a random thought this afternoon while I was sitting beside my pink Christmas tree freaking out at Iñigo who was plucking silver balls and throwing them with good aim at Vito. I was wondering if I wanted a daughter.
Another random thought followed that first random thought: At my mother's wake five years ago, a relative I've never met went up to me and said right out of the blue: "You will never ever be as beautiful as your mother. Never. My condolences." Then he walked away.
Iñigo dazzled. |
This is a cute video of the kids pretending drinking straws were swords. |
Another cute video of the boys dancing. |
It's just decorated with silver balls at this point. It needs something else. Maybe turquoise or gold or emerald. Maybe ribbon? What do you think?
Now, whenever some people see my pink Christmas tree, they ask, "Do your boys mind?" This strikes me as an incredibly silly question because...
1. It's MY tree. It's not like I bought it for them and insisted on a color they didn't want.
2. A person's gender is not defined by colors. It's just pink. It doesn't threaten their boy-ness.
3. Vito's favorite color is pink so he loves the tree.
Speaking of gender, I had a random thought this afternoon while I was sitting beside my pink Christmas tree freaking out at Iñigo who was plucking silver balls and throwing them with good aim at Vito. I was wondering if I wanted a daughter.
Another random thought followed that first random thought: At my mother's wake five years ago, a relative I've never met went up to me and said right out of the blue: "You will never ever be as beautiful as your mother. Never. My condolences." Then he walked away.
I can't decide if his condolences were because my mother was dead or because I was ugly.