Oh christmas tree
We've been talking about getting our tree on saturday. I hate this time of year. Too many interruptions. I know how saturday will go because we've been here before. We always try to get an early start but it never happens. Now we are not just going down to the corner here, and buying a tree "off the rack". No, no, no. We drive an hour to a tree farm. We walk around for another hour looking for that "just right" tree. Then I have to cut the thing down with a rusty dull saw that you get when you enter the tree farm. I will not go into how the tree is picked because good god fearing men will want to scratch out their eyes with pine cones just hearing it. Let's just say that at some point in the day, in another galaxy perhaps, planets will align and she will know.
Picture time. We pause now and take pictures infront of the tree that will soon adorn our house. We will see this tree every day for the next couple of weeks but we need pictures. There are five of us and the tree. We have to come up with every possible combination for pictures. Then we put a few decorations on the tree from the backpack. I mentioned the backpack, right? You know, a gallon of hot chocolate for each person, extra clothes for each child for about two weeks worth of vacation, a second sweatshirt for her, matches and firestarter in case we are stranded. And the santa hats. We each have to put on the santa hats. Then put them on the tree. Pictures. If we printed out all the pictures we took there would be no more christmas trees.
The moment I get on the ground (did I mention that it's raining here), the kids think that is a que to all sit on my back. As if the backpack were not enough (I didn't lay down I crumbled). My wife, upon hearing the first stroke of the saw, starts with commands about which way to "fell" the tree so as not to harm her children; as if the tree feeling the first stroke will lean over and break itself off, wiping out my progeny in the process. Remember, they are sitting on my back during this procedure. I have no intention of making a tree and Timm sandwich, let alone adding any little condiments. Now we have to get the tree back to the car. In the past when the weather fairy has been kind, I can just drag it out. This is a much anticipated event. I get help from mitten clad hands for about 20 feet and then, having fulfilled their contractual kid duties, I am left alone to haul the tree over hill and dale. Having pissed off the fairy of weather, I will have to carry the beast to keep it out of the mud. Is it any wonder I always find the "perfect" tree ten feet from the car and only 4 feet tall? My son will want to help tie the tree on and this is welcome help. I can throw him up on the van roof to weave the 1/4 mile of string through the tree and roof rack in a fashion that would bring a tear to spidermans eye.
If things are on schedule, so to speak, it will now be well after noon. The kids will be hungry and cold, my wife will be hungry and cold, and I will be hungry. Do we snack or eat lunch and then ruin dinner? Should we just do an early dinner?
Well, I'll let you know
For now. . .
Picture time. We pause now and take pictures infront of the tree that will soon adorn our house. We will see this tree every day for the next couple of weeks but we need pictures. There are five of us and the tree. We have to come up with every possible combination for pictures. Then we put a few decorations on the tree from the backpack. I mentioned the backpack, right? You know, a gallon of hot chocolate for each person, extra clothes for each child for about two weeks worth of vacation, a second sweatshirt for her, matches and firestarter in case we are stranded. And the santa hats. We each have to put on the santa hats. Then put them on the tree. Pictures. If we printed out all the pictures we took there would be no more christmas trees.
The moment I get on the ground (did I mention that it's raining here), the kids think that is a que to all sit on my back. As if the backpack were not enough (I didn't lay down I crumbled). My wife, upon hearing the first stroke of the saw, starts with commands about which way to "fell" the tree so as not to harm her children; as if the tree feeling the first stroke will lean over and break itself off, wiping out my progeny in the process. Remember, they are sitting on my back during this procedure. I have no intention of making a tree and Timm sandwich, let alone adding any little condiments. Now we have to get the tree back to the car. In the past when the weather fairy has been kind, I can just drag it out. This is a much anticipated event. I get help from mitten clad hands for about 20 feet and then, having fulfilled their contractual kid duties, I am left alone to haul the tree over hill and dale. Having pissed off the fairy of weather, I will have to carry the beast to keep it out of the mud. Is it any wonder I always find the "perfect" tree ten feet from the car and only 4 feet tall? My son will want to help tie the tree on and this is welcome help. I can throw him up on the van roof to weave the 1/4 mile of string through the tree and roof rack in a fashion that would bring a tear to spidermans eye.
If things are on schedule, so to speak, it will now be well after noon. The kids will be hungry and cold, my wife will be hungry and cold, and I will be hungry. Do we snack or eat lunch and then ruin dinner? Should we just do an early dinner?
Well, I'll let you know
For now. . .
posted by Tgears at 9:37 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home