Our Christmas tree stayed up for a long time. A long time. And not because it was pretty or I'm religious. Just lazy. And then Sam said something about "fire hazard" and pulled the ornaments off and threw the tree out the door. (Fifteen minutes later, Connor came back in from shoveling the sidewalk bearing an ornament. Being the me that everyone loves and adores, I had to mock Sam and then he pointed out that I've likely thrown ornaments out every year myself. I've seen no proof.)
The stupid happy-birthday-Jesus tree left forty thousand needles all over the carpet (I know, I counted), and Sam decided to try to murder my vacuum with them. So I grabbed the broom and dustpan. So Sam wanted to trump me with the shopvac. Only, our shopvac is also a leaf blower- aka a blow-the-melted-snow-out-of-the-garage-er. This had been its most recent occupation. So the triumphant slamming down of the shopvac next to the pile of needles that I was constructing was mildly less triumphanty, due to the fact that the shopvac was, indeed, missing the motor. Anyway, by the time he made it back in the house, toting the leaf blower (which was still its current composition) I had already scooped the majority of the needles into the garbage bag held by the ever useful Ethan.
Needing a reason to have brought in the leaf blower, it became a way of drying Ethan's already dry hair and clothes. Which was fine with me. But then he turned it on me. Which was decidedly not fine with me. So then I decided to shake the excess needles off the broom. Over Sam's head. Because I'm that kind of
bitch mature. The entire scene was melodically accompanied with Ethan's cries of, "Battle! It's a battle!", while he jumped up and down, cheering.