It's Me, Sara Louise

This is my fourth Christmas as a Le Petit Villager. The fourth! Me, I can hardly believe it.

But even though it’s the fourth, it’s the first one that we’re staying put, and since we’re finally staying put for the holiday, we finally got a tree.

(My first year here we got Fifty instead of a tree and went to French Mommy’s in Auvergne, then the next year we went to Dublin, and last year we were back at French Mommy’s… again, no tree)

Since I have been beyond excited for my first Sapin de Noël, I have wanted to spread the Christmas joy. I want everyone to be swept away with the spirit of sparkly lights and shiny ornaments. And since everyone includes my husband’s husband, I had The Husband call Gatz to ask him if he would like to come over and help us decorate it;

The Husband: Come over on Saturday, we’re getting the Christmas tree and you can decorate it with us, it will be nice. 

Gatz: But Toulon is playing on Saturday, we need to watch that.

The Husband: Oh you’re right. Well come over and watch the match and then we’ll decorate the tree. 

Gatz: I don’t know. Maybe.

Then a couple days later Gatz called The Husband;

Gatz: I’m making a Tartiflette for Saturday and we can have it after the match. 

The Husband: So you’re bringing the Tartiflette to my house? 

Gatz: No, we’re having it at my house after we watch the rugby.

The Husband: But I told you that me and Skippy are decorating the tree. Come over and bring the Tartiflette if you want to make one. 

Gatz: {incomprehensible moaning and complaining}

On Friday, The Husband’s phone rang;

Gatz: So I’m getting ready to make the Tartiflette for tomorrow. What time are you coming over?

The Husband: There is something wrong in your head. We aren’t coming over. We want to decorate the Christmas tree tomorrow night. Are you coming over to watch the match or not?

Gatz: {incomprehensible moaning} Tartiflette {incomprehensible moaning} my house {incomprehensible moaning} Tartiflette. 

On Saturday morning the time had finally come. We were on our way to pick out our very first tree as a couple (a couple’s very first tree is a big, big deal people, especially when that couple has already been married for two years). And because we wanted to make sure we got the most perfect tree, we drove all the way to Carpentras, to Honey B’s wife’s jardinerie (you know Honey B, he’s Honey Jr’s big brother… you went to his wedding and his 30th birthday party).

And on the way, The Husband’s phone rang;

Gatz: I made the Tartiflette last night. 

The Husband: OK, then bring it to my house, we’ll watch the match, decorate the tree, and eat the Tartiflette. 

Gatz: But it’s too big to bring over, plus the roads are bad.

The Husband: The roads aren’t that bad, I’m almost to Carpentras and they’ve been fine. 

Gatz: Still, I made the Tartiflette so you guys need to come over to my house if you want it.

The Husband: We’re not coming over.

Gatz: But then I’m going to be at home all by myself.

The Husband: You don’t have to be, you can come over to our house, and if the roads are bad, you can spend the night.

Gatz: {incomprehensible moaning} Tartiflette {incomprehensible moaning} my house {incomprehensible moaning} Tartiflette. 

Immediately after arriving at le jardinerie, we spotted our tree. It’s vertically challenged, but perfect (since Fifty is scared of really tall people, I thought a really tall tree might not be the best idea). 

And then later that afternoon, we watched the rugby and after Mr. London and Toulon won, we turned on the Christmas music and decorated our first tree. 

As for Gatz and his Tartiflette, he ate it at home alone and has been pouting ever since. He’ll be pouting all week, but I don’t care, because I have the prettiest little tree in The LPV.

bisou