A few months ago, at the hight of Summer, I bought a glorious, all singing all dancing, pre-lit with thousands of beautiful white fairy lights, real looking fake 11ft Christmas tree. I got it at an auction and I got it for a steal (this beast of festivity cost more than I paid for my first car four times over in the shops and I won it for £57 all in! I had auction staff congratulate me on how good a deal I had got as they all piled round to see just who had bought the 11ft foot tree in the middle of Summer and to judge my sanity.

Sure I bought it in June and sure it does come in five boxes and require either a small van or two trips in my rather roomy estate to move it but it will look spectacular up right? Right, it will, it really really will, however, the other tiny piece of information I neglected to mention was that standing proud at 11ft the tree doesn’t actually fit into our house. It fits into the house I want to live in; the double fronted Victorian house with it’s exquisite high ceilings that I dreamily search Rightmove for daily, and it looks amazing in that projection of future Christmases, but right now, it doesn’t fit in my house and my beloved Tray (for I have named my tree Tray) will be spending his first Christmas in his many boxes, filling up much needed loft space.

So why did I buy Tray and why am I rambling on about him right now (I know my parter would certainly like to know the answer to the first question as he hates Tray. He made this extremely clear upon first encountering the tree, then again with fewer but very specific words as he put him up in the loft, and with no words at all as he simply shock his head and looked to the ceiling for most of the week following the ‘incident’, the incident were he feels I lost possession of my mind and bought an 11ft tree that doesn’t fit in our house)

Well the reasons I bought the tree and the reasons behind the majority of my questionable life choices both highlight a monumental personality flaw (or strength! I actually do believe it is a strength but hey I would wouldn’t I?) of mine; I am stubborn and won’t be told (ha, don’t even get me started) and I dream big. Big and often ridiculously unattainable dreams. I want that 11ft tree lit up in all it’s splendour with my kids world’s appearing filled to the brim with magic. I want my kids to be as stubborn as I am and to accept nothing less than the most fantastical out of life. I want them to dream big as the saying goes but I also want them to actually make those dreams happen or to  try their darn tooting hardest to see them realised because cliché as it appears it is the trying that matters most. I in turn will do everything in my power to help and support them. I will fill their days with 11ft Christmas trees in Summer that don’t fit in our house.* And I’m going to document the hell out of it all here.

*Let the record show, our days are not always filled with 11ft Christmas trees, many are your average 5ft days.

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