Here we are at a u-pick in the world capital of christmas trees, tall ships and pirates. They sell these trees on streetcorners in Manhattan for $400 apiece, proving that entrepreneurship trumps Maritime sensibilities every time.

Evan, two hours late for his nap, is just about to break out into a wail, kick Justin in the head and flip over backwards to run away into the snow and slip on an iced-up mud puddle. I am squinting, because it wouldn't be a picture of me if I weren't. Justin is being a saint, because it wouldn't be a picture of him if he weren't.

And all of us unintentionally sport matching puffy vests - because the family that dresses together... what? Gets beat up on the playground together? Touch-eh.