I'm 23 years old and pushing 24 (does that mean I get to start telling kids to get off my lawn?) and I have little gray hairs next to my ears.
This hardly seems fair as I can't blame it on the stress of my job (don't have one), the exertion of raising children (nonexistent, thank God) or keeping the family orchard safe from apple thieves (if only).
This weekend, I chose to distract myself from the early onset of old age by helping my mom decorate our Christmas tree.
The IU mug and the Purdue fleece may seem like a conflict of interest, but that's kind of the house we live in.
Anyway, we only got to decorate the top 2/3 of the tree due to the fact that both our cats decided the Christmas tree is one big cat toy, constructed purely for their pleasure.
Because of these two furballs, since Sunday, most conversations in this house go a little something like this:
Sara: Are you hungry?
Dad: Yeah, what do you want for- Cindy, get out of the tree! -dinner?
Sara: I thought- Stella! No! -you were going to make chili.
Dad: I could make chili. When is your mom getting home?
Sara: I just talked to her and- Cindy, stop chewing on baby Jesus! Spit him out! - she said she should be home in about- Cindy, I said spit Jesus out!- 20 minutes.
Here is our finished tree, complete with homemade ornaments from my brother and I, circa 1989. (The breakables will stay in the box this year thanks to Spazzy McGee and Lady Eats the Tree.) I even got to put the angel on top of the tree! Sort of!
It's taller than it looks. 
Tomorrow, I will be going to the airport to collect my good friend, Lisa, from the Indy airport. She has many nicknames, like Lisa-Pants, Lises Pieces and my personal favorite, Love Chinchilla (don't ask me to explain that).
I imagine a blog full of all sorts of shenanigans and poppycock will show up very soon. And I warn you, most of it will involve eating... because that's what we do.
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