With wrecking-ball-like demolition, this year I smashed my typical way of selecting the perfect tree. In previous years, my husband and children have whined and sometimes thrown wreaths at the time it would take me to pick the tree. But for some reason, maybe it was the lack of sleep (duh!) or the too-close-to-dinner time trip, or me going out in my pajamas (yes, close to dinner time), this time I selected our tree with the concentration and swiftness of a sharpshooter.
Against all that is in my Christmas-loving, perfect-tree requiring soul, I choose a tree still wrapped in string. Really! It looked skinny, all bound like some kind of sharp, green topiary missile. This year, I decided I wanted skinny. We’re in a new house for us, but an old home, with small, choppy rooms and nothing tall and fat would do, or fit.
I fell asleep early that night, putting one of the kids to sleep, or passing out into a pile of clothes while trying to fold them and never saw the tree untied. When I heard my son screech like he’d been scalded with hot coals as he made his way down the stairs in the morning, I knew it was definitely something and not the petite tree I anticipated.
Needless to say, I now have a behemoth, evergreen monster in my living room. It’s so large, we had to move most of our furniture out of the living room and into the dining room that definitely doesn’t need a recliner, side table and two Pottery Barn kids’ armchairs in it.
Our poor angel will need at least the next eleven months to recover from the back and neck pain she’s enduring at the tippity-top. Come to think of it, if I hear one peep out of another small person in my house, she’ll have more than a few aches and pains to whine about.