In a shocking display of pre-holiday bravado, I hauled my family out of their sick beds and over a few ridges and through the woods to cut our Christmas tree!

Egged on by my guilt from my lack of Halloween/Thanksgiving whoop-dee-doo, I decided we needed to get a jump on the holiday decorating. Not that we'd actually start decorating, but having the tree would allow me to decorate at will. No excuses for Mizz Jenny, no siree, not this season.

The kids were fine with it. I wouldn't say excited exactly, but they were willing to go. The husband, however, had an aching back from the virus we were all fighting, and he was less enthusiastic.

When we arrived at the tree farm, I threw open the doors to the mini van. My husband limped along behind me, as I steamrolled ahead, chirping happy noises interspersed with little hummed carols. The kids wiped snotty noses on jacket sleeves and sent ugly, barking coughs into the cool air. I handed my six year old a saw and put a wheeled battering ram into my five year old's control and then sent them off into the rows of trees.

The kids quickly landed on 'the perfect tree.'

"Wow!" I said. "Wow, that's totally not going to work." Really, I take all the fun out of these outings. My son pouted and I sent the skittering over the hills in search of the next 'perfect tree.'

After several rejections on my part, the kids landed on a tree that would fit on top of the van, and I said "Yes!" After a ceremonial circling of the tree trunk to check for bald spots, I proceeded to lamely squat near the base of the tree and attempt to cut it down.

My husband tried to coach me, but there were, like, branches in my face, and I wasn't going to kneel in the mud, so the kids decided they needed to help.

Sadly, we all were too lame, and my husband had to drop to his knees, groaning in pain, and saw through the trunk. I felt bad, but not too bad, because I needed that tree, and besides, he needed to move those muscles so they wouldn't tense up, right?

The kids decided as the tree fell that they picked that one for ME, but they wanted their own tree. Uh-huh. Apparently they had a taste for sawing things down, and they wanted MORE! MORE! I was glad they didn't have axes available.

Since felling the tree pretty much put the husband into agony, I had the kids help me load tree one onto the battering ram, and then off they scampered to get their other tree.

Once we had two trees, I decided we needed to get our Haul-iday spirit mojo working and get these sap-leaking trees up the hill. I told the kids to get a move on.

She gave it her best shot, but made no progress. She did make some pretty good grimaces.

At six years old, I feel a child should be able to carry their tree up the hill to the barn, doesn't everyone?

Alas, it didn't work out that way. Everyone decided that I should pull the trees up the hill. This photo doesn't do it justice. It was steeeeeep.

Oh, there was belly-aching. There were tantrums. There were lots of breaks to rest on the way up the hill. And that was just me.

Happily, we made it up to the barn, managed to wrestle the trees onto the top of the van, and made it home without taking out any cars behind us with our improperly tied-down trees.

Now, I have two trees in buckets in my yard. I feel rather holly jolly. Now I just have to get motivated to find the tree stands.