electric mist

you may all cease to shop now, because

I have single handedly killed Christmas, according to my oldest son. I know, I know, it's early yet, but just think of all the time and trouble I've saved you.

I would like to say in my own self-defense that it was an innocent offense which caused the entire demise of Christmas, but I would be lying. It was premeditated, planned and executed with all the stealth of James Bond in his latest BMW. The offense? We didn't buy a real tree this year.

Every single year of their lives, the kids have had a real tree. I was adamant that only a real tree truly meant "Christmas" was here, so I only have myself to blame, because I was never going to have a fake one. Never. Ever. And not just a real tree, but as big a tree as we could possibly afford. The smallest I think we ever had was seven feet tall, and since we've been in this house with the higher ceilings in the living room, they've been as much as ten feet tall. Except the one year a couple of years ago when we couldn't agree on any single tree anywhere on any lot in the entire city and then I turned around and spied the most perfect Christmas tree... which was fourteen feet tall. I didn't believe them that it was really fourteen feet though my husband kept assuring me I had lost my mind and there was no way that tree was ever going to fit into the door, much less be able to stand up in the living room, but I was so exhausted and we had all fought so much by that point, he bought the damned tree just to get it over with so we could quit and go home. When they started loading it into the back of my oldest son's pick-up truck, I suddenly had some perspective as to just how big that stupid tree was... more than half of it hung off the back of the truck. Not a good sign. When we got it home, Carl stood the tree up near the back door so that I could see the problem and it was higher than the roofline. Er. Oops. He had to cut four feet off the bottom of that tree just so it could stand up in the living room, and it was such a huge tree, we almost had to move everything out just to fit it inside. I'm not kidding, it had a nine foot diameter. Yes. Nine. No, that is not an exaggeration. It took me three days on a scaffold and my kids' entire college tuition for more ornaments to decorate that damned tree, but by God, I was going to decorate it because I wasn't about to admit that maybe, possibly, Carl had been right and it was a little too big.

Somewhere along the way in my childhood, I had this sort of Hallmark image of families who tra-la-la'd out to the real tree lot and cut their own tree, all smiles and hand-holding and hot chocolate when they got home, whereupon they would begin the decorating process with great joy and laughter and create wonderful memories of the holiday. Please, if anyone knows a family like this, point them out to me so I can beat them to death. This has never, ever, been our experience.

Oh, we tried. We'd always ...

...go the day after Thanksgiving, we'd pile into the truck and we'd head out to the various tree farms and the bickering started the moment we got there. Invariably, the kids would run off in different directions and choose completely different looking trees and start lobbying hard for the tree of their choice and man, I know how Sophie felt, because if I dared choose one child's pick over the other child? That meant I didn't love the non-pickee. At all. Might as well ship them off to an orphanage, for the drama we'd have. Even when we'd all talk about this ahead of time and come to an agreement (when they got old enough for things like that work), and it looked like it might be smooth sailing? Nope. It was genetically impossible for them to pick the same tree or agree that the other's choice might be better suited, and God forbid I find a third choice that might be a good compromise because then they each had to go find another choice to try to out-do my choice and it just would never end. I'd be standing in the middle of the Christmas tree farm wondering if anyone would notice if I just offed myself by the flocking station while they were running to and fro, and Carl was seriously off to the side of the place, sneezing already, because he's allergic.

Yes, the man is allergic to Christmas trees and yet he loves us so much, he insisted we have a real one every year because it meant so much to the kids.

So every year, I'd end up having to choose one and whichever child's wasn't selected, said child generally pouted and stewed and frowned and sighed heavily for the rest of the night. Or stomped off in a huff.

This was just so much fun, we did it every. single. year.

When the kids were little, they'd help with decorating the tree... for about fifteen minutes. They wanted to help. They planned to help. But a tree that size takes a little while and they'd get bored and wander off. I didn't mind so much because one of the few things I enjoyed was decorating the tree. I put hundreds of things on the tree, and not all traditional types of things. There are lacy white crocheted snowflakes my grandmother made me. Tiny red and white roses to represent my other grandmother. Bows for Carl's grandmother. Tiny white doves -- dozens -- on the tips of the limbs about to take flight to represent my Paw Paw (my mom's dad). (He fed doves every morning of his adult life -- he'd take a bit of feed outside and toss it to two or three pair of doves. The day before he died, he went outside to feed the doves and there were so many, probably more than a hundred. It filled him with such joy that he chuckled most of the day and planned on getting more feed in case they all came back. He died in his sleep the next morning, and I've always felt that the doves had come to say goodbye and thanks.) There are little wooden ornaments for my dad's dad, and several things representing the kids (teddy bears, drums, toys, etc.) All told, I put close to 700 ornaments on the tree, which can take as much as two days. It's always a beautiful tree, and I know that's why the boys kept insisting on the real tree -- they loved the meaning.

But I hated the way it would die by Christmas. (They hated waiting and we'd always end up with a lot of family functions every weekend in December, so the day after Thanksgiving became the default day, since everyone was home and generally off work.) (The trick to making a real one last is not only to water it daily, but to put about 20 aspirin in the water every day. The aspirin helps the tree wick the water up into the limbs and will keep it fresher, longer.) Still. We'd get it the day after Thanksgiving and by Christmas Day, the tree would always be dropping its needles and looking a bit grim. In addition, we throw a huge party on New Year's Day, and I couldn't leave the tree up for that -- no way would it make it -- so I had to take all 700 ornaments down and then all the lights (while completely identifying with the Little Red Hen), and then get the house ready for 100 guests. Not easy.

So, I wanted a good fake tree. Something that I could leave up. Something that I could leave the smaller ornaments which tie onto the limbs on... just the dangly ones would have to be removed. But every year I mentioned it, both boys had heart attacks, and I'd relent and we'd go back through the real tree process once again.

This year, though, I saw the tree I wanted. Pre-lit with 1200 lights, gorgeous, ten feet tall and when I stood in front of it in the store, I could not tell it wasn't a real tree. Seriously, could not tell. It was on sale. It came home with me. (I wish I had a picture of me and the sales guy trying to wedge that ten foot tree which was in a six foot box into the back seat of my very little car. I was determined not to have to go back.)

My youngest son, on hearing I'd bought a fake tree, said, "Awww, mom, don't do that!" And I said, "Too late, already did," and he said, "Bummer." That was the extent of his frustration. I did not tell the oldest son. The tree sat here for four weeks, in the box, waiting for today, but I didn't say anything. Neither son lives with us anymore, and the oldest is 22, and you'd think a 22-year-old would be able to let things go, but not this kid. He actually walked by the box a couple of times and didn't ask what was inside, so I neglected to mention it. Hey, I'm not a masochist.

But last night, while I was putting the tree together, he called. And his dad told him about the fake tree. He made his dad hand me the phone, and he said, "MOM! You're not serious! You didn't really buy a fake tree, did you?" To which I said, "Yes, Luke I really did."

He couldn't believe it. He so couldn't believe it that he kept asking me over and over again, as if the billionth time was going to get him the answer he wanted, and when I finally convinced him that yes, I had actually done the dastardly deed of buying a fake tree, he said, "You've KILLED CHRISTMAS!" He said it in the same tone a kid would say about discovering there's no Santa or Easter Bunny. And when he's that upset, he's hysterical. I end up cracking up at him because of the increduality in a twenty-two year-old at something like that is just damned funny. But he kept saying I'd killed Christmas, which kinda broke my heart.

I'm sure the real problem is that he has a new girlfriend and he was looking forward to including her in the family outing and that just got sliced away from him when he least expected it. And, too, he lives on his own now in a house and he hadn't (until now) put up his own tree, so our going to get one was the only Christmas tradition he had, which I did really feel terrible about. (I hadn't thought of that prior to getting the tree.) He and his girlfriend came over last night and saw the tree, which looks completely real, and he glared at it and wouldn't hardly acknowledge its presence. I pointed out that Christmas was about us and family and we could all get together and squabble over this tree as we go outside to "pick it out" of the storage shed and haul it in, but I don't think he liked my teasing.

I decorated it today, and it's gorgeous. It's one of the best trees I've ever done, and ultimately, neither of the boys live here... they'll come through here from time to time, but not terribly often, and they're old enough to start their own traditions... but I still feel conflicted. I love this tree -- it's beautiful, and next year, will be way easier since I won't have to put on all the little ornaments again (they're staying on). But I'm sad I've abruptly brought a tradition to an end (well, if "abruptly" can be described as discussing it for five years and then finally doing it). I know he's really bothered by it and I can't change it now. Of course, I console myself with the memory that he felt the exact same way about the Tooth Fairy, and he survived that knowledge, so he'll survive this one.

I think.

Here's the culprit:

and a close-up of my teddy bear "star"...

It's much prettier than the photos... the flash sort of undoes the magic of the lights, and it's difficult to get the detail in the photo. Anyway, I love it.

Posted by toni at November 27, 2004 10:42 PM