It’s that time of year again. Christmas tree shopping is finally here. The kids get excited about it until it’s the actual day and time to go and get it, and lets face it- we are the same way.
Our plans to pick one out on Saturday were spoiled by 12’s after school program, which had an all-day meet over an hour away from home. PS we found out about it Wednesday. Life with pre-teens. So our Sunday after church plan changed from “taking naps and home made lunch” to “picking out tree, rearranging entire living room, cleaning, baking cookies, making homemade pizza, and decorating for Christmas.” Not. So. Relaxing
It started out fine. Two cars of people plowed into the local Christmas tree farm, ready to find one and jet out (it was cold). The kids pile onto the tailgate and off we go to the cheap tree lot. I hate these trees. They’re puffy and they’re shaved weird and I’m irritated that we have to go to the cheap lot. We don’t need to be in the cheap lot. We can afford the better trees. But Prince Charming wants to save money, so let’s save money I suppose. No valid argument there.
Onward through the farm. We split up and all search through the rows of trees. Some are small, some are lopsided, some have curvy trunks and holes in the middle of the branches. This stinks. I want a better tree. Everyone has pointed out a few that they like until Charming finds the one. But I hate it. I don’t know why; maybe I was just throwing a tantrum because my tree wasn’t picked. My pleas to not get this ugly tree aren’t being heard and this blossoms into my recent feelings of being neglected (Re: Hunting Season) and undesirable. So I pout. I walk away. I say “Get your dang tree,” and waltz around the farm some more. They get on the ground and begin to inspect. I’m walking.
“Stepmomma, the trunk is curvy! Come back!” I smile. I keep walking. I can’t care yet.
“STEP MOMMMAAAAAA” Can’t ignore that one, guess I should turn back. Take your time, SM.
“Stepmomma, thetrunkiscurvywecantgetthisone” 8 squeaks out after running to find me.
The search continues.
The pregnant one can’t handle the search anymore, so she finds somewhere to hide behind a tree.
The 8 year old is running loose somewhere.
Charming won’t talk to me because I was acting like a 6 year old who couldn’t wear her mismatched clothes to a party.
The 12 year old is finding broken branches and asking every adult if this can be our tree.
Then it’s there. Ta-Da!
We all love it. It’s perfect.
“8! Get the saw!”
We all walk away while they work away on this tree.
17’s boyfriend suggests that I cause another scene, pretending I hate the tree they just cut down.
“Oh, Charming! I really hate that tree, it’s got holes and it’s too big for our house. Can we just get this one?”
“IT’S DOWN ALREADY”
“Can we just have two? Come on.” the crowd snickers.
8 drags our tree to the truck, we pack up and go home.
The house is not in working order. The living room is not fit for this tree. REDECORATE.
Remove everything from the room. Lift up the couch, clean under it. Flip it around. Move the tables, Unhook the entire sound system, clean the cobwebs out of the places I can’t normally reach, sweat. Finally, 6 hours later, we have a tree in place, a room redecorated and arranged, cookies baking, and many adults who aren’t talking to each other.
But we have our tree.