Oh, Tannebaum.
So, last night the tree went up. Our neighbor had this beautiful pine tree that was encroaching on his garden and he offered it up, nay, he sacrificed it in the name of Christmas to us.
Being the cheapskates that we are, we took it. Well, not all of it. Just about the top 2/3. Of course, being new at the whole real Christmas tree thing, we brought it in the house where the heavy frau (it has a matronly German feel to it) was strapped into a stand and stood before our picture window. If I sat quietly, I could hear sweet German carols in our living room.
Shape wise, our tree looks a bit like Beth from "Dog, the Bounty Hunter." The post-modern star I bought from Target looked like a misplaced earring on the top. It's gone now. The box was anihilated in the process, so I can't return it.
Anyway, being a bass awkwards family, while my husband was trying to straighten the tree, I was using the shrub clippers to shape it into something a little less Beth like. These fell on our off-white carpet and started to ooze sap.
Despite my half-hearted efforts, the tree could still use a Brazilian, if you know what I mean.
The thing is, both my husband and I are not holiday people. My husband is known for dying every Easter egg the same crappy shade of, well, crap, by putting each egg in multiple colors. For years, we used a Christmas tree that my mother used to set up in the grocery store where she worked for many years. I rescued it from the garbage after she quit that job.
Then, my brother-in-law, Larry, gave us a tree he bought at Wal-Mart on super-duper clearance. We never set it up until Christmas rolled around, and that was when we found out exactly why it had been on super-duper clearance. It was the Festivus bush. We dragged it outside at our old house and put it on the curb. Usually, the curb divers would take our bounty within hours, but the Festivus bush stayed out there for three days.
So, being that our daughter is of the age where holidays should be meaningful, we decided to go out of our way and actually stop being Scrooges this year. She was thrilled with the tree. Delighted in the most sweet sort of way that children can be. She hummed Christmas carols as she rooted through our motley collection of ornaments plus the new "blue" themed ones I bought last December 26 at Marshall Field's.
By the way, that's our theme: Blue. In honor of Elvis.
So, with enough cheer between us to fill a shot glass, my husband and I started on the tree. We strung our six packages of $1.48 blue lights from Target (one complete with a short in it) on the tree. The child continued to hum as she poked at the most expensive glass ornaments. Our hands and arms began to prickle and then itch as we both began to react to the sap.
Ho, ho, ho.
But the child was buoyant. She loves Christmas; she loves decorating. Each year, the height of our ornaments gets higher thanks to her evolving decorating skills and continued growth, but they still tend to be heavily concentrated on the lower third of the tree. I followed behind her, moving the doubled-up ornaments on single branches.
"I am out of room," she finally proclaimed.
It was true. But the upper third was naked.
We moved more ornaments up. We turned off the lights and shooed the cats away from the tree. I still felt relatively foul and lacking in Christmas spirit - and my husband had long retreated to the laundry - but looking at her face and sensing her excitement, I realized that what we had done was good.
And Frau Beth was happy with her new outfit.
Being the cheapskates that we are, we took it. Well, not all of it. Just about the top 2/3. Of course, being new at the whole real Christmas tree thing, we brought it in the house where the heavy frau (it has a matronly German feel to it) was strapped into a stand and stood before our picture window. If I sat quietly, I could hear sweet German carols in our living room.
Shape wise, our tree looks a bit like Beth from "Dog, the Bounty Hunter." The post-modern star I bought from Target looked like a misplaced earring on the top. It's gone now. The box was anihilated in the process, so I can't return it.
Anyway, being a bass awkwards family, while my husband was trying to straighten the tree, I was using the shrub clippers to shape it into something a little less Beth like. These fell on our off-white carpet and started to ooze sap.
Despite my half-hearted efforts, the tree could still use a Brazilian, if you know what I mean.
The thing is, both my husband and I are not holiday people. My husband is known for dying every Easter egg the same crappy shade of, well, crap, by putting each egg in multiple colors. For years, we used a Christmas tree that my mother used to set up in the grocery store where she worked for many years. I rescued it from the garbage after she quit that job.
Then, my brother-in-law, Larry, gave us a tree he bought at Wal-Mart on super-duper clearance. We never set it up until Christmas rolled around, and that was when we found out exactly why it had been on super-duper clearance. It was the Festivus bush. We dragged it outside at our old house and put it on the curb. Usually, the curb divers would take our bounty within hours, but the Festivus bush stayed out there for three days.
So, being that our daughter is of the age where holidays should be meaningful, we decided to go out of our way and actually stop being Scrooges this year. She was thrilled with the tree. Delighted in the most sweet sort of way that children can be. She hummed Christmas carols as she rooted through our motley collection of ornaments plus the new "blue" themed ones I bought last December 26 at Marshall Field's.
By the way, that's our theme: Blue. In honor of Elvis.
So, with enough cheer between us to fill a shot glass, my husband and I started on the tree. We strung our six packages of $1.48 blue lights from Target (one complete with a short in it) on the tree. The child continued to hum as she poked at the most expensive glass ornaments. Our hands and arms began to prickle and then itch as we both began to react to the sap.
Ho, ho, ho.
But the child was buoyant. She loves Christmas; she loves decorating. Each year, the height of our ornaments gets higher thanks to her evolving decorating skills and continued growth, but they still tend to be heavily concentrated on the lower third of the tree. I followed behind her, moving the doubled-up ornaments on single branches.
"I am out of room," she finally proclaimed.
It was true. But the upper third was naked.
We moved more ornaments up. We turned off the lights and shooed the cats away from the tree. I still felt relatively foul and lacking in Christmas spirit - and my husband had long retreated to the laundry - but looking at her face and sensing her excitement, I realized that what we had done was good.
And Frau Beth was happy with her new outfit.
posted by The Arendts at 2:38 PM
1 Comments:
L, your writing always makes me weep. there's also an L missing in until and bouyant is misspelled. damn you for slowing me down and making me read something that got a reaction. NOW I feel compelled to bite the bullet, pull the kid away from the tv and have some christmas spirit.
Post a Comment
<< Home