Now that Thanksgiving is officially over, I can humbly concede to the spirit of this holiday that is Christmas. I know I've been a stinker and a scrooge, and might have offended some people with my bah humbugging. Sorry.
To express my sincerest apologies, I've decided to spread a little Christmas cheer.
As promised, here is a little story about why I have recently purchased a "fake" Christmas tree.
To preface this story, you must know that my sister's husband family own a huge amount of farm property outside the town that they live. Part of that property is up in the mountains. So, early last December, I thought it might be a fun family experience to go all Griswold, and drive up to my sister's property and cut down a Christmas tree. We drove nearly two hours to get there, trekked through mud and snow and forest for hours scouring the slopes for the perfect tree. After searching, and searching, and not finding anything good enough for my humble home, I started hiking up a hill way off the road. Finally, I found a tree that I deemed worthy to be OUR Christmas tree. I called for my hubby, who came with the chainsaw. He laughed and told me it was too big for our house, and I just guffawed and said "This is the one! Cut it down!" Of course, he was tired of following me around the mountain, so he cut down the tree, dragged it down the mountain, and strapped it onto the back of his truck.
We got home, did "a little" trimming to fit the tree into the corner of our family room. One side of the tree was fuller than the rest, so of course that part went in the front. I immediately set out decorating the tree. I was so excited and was sure it was going to be the most beautiful tree EVER!
Later that night, after the tree had been lovingly decorated, the kids and I went to visit my Mom (leaving C home to watch football). An hour later, C called me on my cell phone, fuming, and said that the tree had fallen down, but he'd put it back up. I gathered the kids, and came home. Patiently, I re-decorated the tree.
The next afternoon, the tree fell again. And we patiently pulled it back up. And again the next day.
The next night, around 2:00 a.m., while sleeping peacefully in my bed, I was awakened suddenly, by a strange sound. I heard a slight whoosh, then a tinkle, tinkle, and crash!
My first thought in my half asleep state was that a burglar was in the house. Heart pounding, I thought what to do. Then I realized at once: The tree! I jumped out of bed, flipped on the light, and sure enough there was my beautiful tree lying awkwardly on its face in the middle of my family room. Shocked and stunned by my tree's suicide attempt, I decided to take it upon myself to save my little tree's life. Tired and frustrated, I shimmied behind the tree, and proceeded to attempt to pull up the damaged tree myself. Grunting and pulling, sighing and pushing, I tried every angle I could think of to get that damn tree up. But the enormous mass was just too heavy for weak little me. I wasn't about to swallow my pride and wake up my husband and ask him to help me, so instead I made the biggest racket I could, until finally, he stumbled out of bed and came out to help me on his own. Both of us, agitated beyond reason, having been disturbed from our precious sleep, took upon the task of righting this horrible wrong. He pulled while I pushed, and finally the tree was up, crooked, and cockeyed, but up. With ornaments and lights, strewn everywhere, I again, shimmied around behind the tree, to hold it in place, while C rushed out to the garage to find something to weigh down the back of the tree. He came back with several bricks, and handed them back for me to put into place. Screaming at each other, because it still wasn't working and I wasn't understanding what C was explaining, as he tried to tell me where to put the bricks, we, finally, got the stupid tree upright.
I climbed back out from behind the tree and assessed the damage. A huge puddle of water and sticky sap soaked into my carpet in the middle of the floor. Lights were falling off the tree, and ornaments were everywhere.
After having redecorated the tree so many times that week, I just couldn't wring any more creative energy out of my physically and emotionally exhausted self. So the ornament were literally thrown onto the tree, strings of lights left where they hung.
Covered in sap, sweat, dirt and tears, C & I finally stormed back to bed in bitter silence.
We survived that Christmas. Barely. So, now you can understand my distaste for decorating. I did it enough in that one week to last me for the next decade.
So, to save my marriage, this year, I chose to go fake.
And I will be burning a pine scented candle for effect.
No more Griswold Christmas' for me, thank you very much.