Pyromania

We have an annual tradition of burning a Christmas tree on New Year's Eve.  Mind you, rarely is it ever our Christmas tree, one, because I never have ours un-decorated by then, and two, ours is never dry enough to burn.  But we tend to scour the neighborhood for other people's trees and then burn those.  This year, it was the Bradford's tree, and it was so dry we hardly needed the newspaper to get it going.

To say the kids enjoy this tradition is putting it mildly.  They LOVE it.  They will point out trees lying by the side of the road and want me to stop and pick them up.  Often I will.  Two days ago I walked down the street and hauled home two trees the neighbors had put out.  The Tanners have also gotten into the spirit of the tree burning and will collect them around.  Heidi saw a really big one in a dumpster last year, called me, then came over with the truck and we went to bring it home.

This morning, a heartwarming mom moment.  Brandt bundled up to go outside and play.  Shortly after he'd gone outside, he came running back into the house and said, "Mom! The Atkinson's put their tree outside!" and then raced back out again.  A few minutes later the doorbell rang (and rang and rang and rang and rang).  When I opened the door, there was Brandt, wide smile, dimples showing, beaming at me.  "I pilfered it!" he said.  "The Atkinson's tree! I hauled it home! It's in the driveway by ours! Can we burn it tonight?!"

Yes, my little thief.  Yes we can.

Pile of four trees waiting to be burned.

I imagine this pile will grow.