If I sit on coal, will it turn into a diamond?

I like to blame my husband for things he can’t control.

Admit it. You like to blame my husband, too.

Currently, I’m blaming my husband for all these trees.

Before we moved here, I liked trees. I thought they were nice.

Now I know better. They are messy, unpredictable, and require tons of upkeep.

They constantly drop leaves, flowers, seeds, and branches on our yard. It’s my husband’s fault!

Yesterday, I spent hours picking up the branches that fell over the winter.

I cussed under my breath. I kicked tree trunks. I shot dirty looks at my husband.

Let me clarify that my dirty looks weren’t lusty in nature, but accusatory and critical.

No big deal. We’re nine months away from Christmas. Santa ain’t watching. He’s resting on a beach.

Santa sure as heck isn’t picking up branches on a cold Spring day, I can tell you that!

Oh, look. Another piece of garbage lodged near MORE branches from our trees.

I knelt in the cold, wet leaves to pick up the paper.

My stomach curled into a tight knot of disbelief.

Ohmygosh, it couldn’t be true.

Santa WAS watching!

Drat. He saw me stick my tongue out at my husband.

Now my husband is going to get all the great toys and I’m gonna get coal.

Wait a minute. This was just a wild coincidence.

I tossed the Santa sticker into the trash.

And a huge branch fell on my head.

.

This week, have you been naughty or nice?