The first year John and I were married we lived in Manchester; I was quite pregnant at Christmas time, and we waited to decorate the giant tree we bought until Jake and Katy came over. We have a fantastic home movie of the event, complete with multiple embarrassing moments, and we enjoy viewing it very much.
The next year we lived in Pembroke and were not going to have a tree due to limited space but at the last minute I changed my mind (no tree?! Hardly ok!) and sent John out looking for the least expensive, smallest tree he could find. And he literally found the tiniest, cheapest tree to be had, bringing it home with broad smile that quickly faded when I couldn't stop laughing at his choice. About three feet tall and balder than Daddy Warbucks, it did indeed fit into our tiny apartment, although finding a side to face "out" that had enough branches to decorate was tricky business.
The following two years we lived in Boscawen and had two babies running around so we opted for small artificial trees we could put out of reach on a tabletop - not very authentic, I know, but it made sense at the time.
By the time we moved to Concord, Jake and Katy were living with us, and I was determined to make as many holiday memories as I could. We found a nice tree down for sale (short and fat and FULL) and also carried on our five year old tradition of decorating stockings to hang up - we did this for eight years, but alas, "going green" led us to keep the stockings from a couple years ago.
The next year I decided it was time to take things up a notch, and asked Dad and Mom if we could find a tree out of their woods, and claim it as our Christmas tree. Having fond memories of cutting down trees in MY grandfather's woods, I thought this was my best idea yet. We bundled up the kids on a snowy day and drove over to my parents, where we headed down into the woods armed with a small saw, and my determination to ignore all of the complaining and looks of martyrdom. It seemed a lot harder to find a decent enough tree than I had figured but it was really cold so we finally settled on one we found way down the path, and Dad and John started sawing away. The men took turns carrying/dragging the tree up the trail, and we finally made it to the house, only to realize we hadn't planned on a secure way of getting the tree home on the van roof. Dad found some rope and John started tying, aiming daggers at me to the whole time. (Surprisingly, my southern boy does not appreciate long walks in the snowy woods carrying children, tools, and trees.) Finally done we piled in the van and headed home, opting to take the highway because it was snowing so badly we were afraid to take the back roads. The fifteen minute drive took about twenty-five minutes, and when we pulled into the driveway I was ready to make hot cocoa and decorate the tree, hoping the rest of the family would thaw out soon - figuratively and otherwise, as no one else had fully embraced my idea of picking out our tree.
As I was getting out of the van John said, "Where's the tree?"
"What do you mean?" I said. "It's on the roof."
"No it isn't." The tree had flown off somewhere between Pembroke and Concord, in a snowstorm somewhere along the highway.
With a HUGE sigh John sent me in the house and went out looking for the scrawny, scrubby tree that was perfectly camouflaged in it's natural habitat, the woods on the side of the road.
He called me an hour later from Wal-Mart, "I'm coming home.I've got a tree."
* * *
The year after that, John told me I had to let him go out and get the tree. Thinking to surprise him on his day off after the long weekend he had just worked, I stopped at Agway and got an enormous pine tree on clearance (I love bargain shopping and had no idea this carried over into Christmas trees) so I bought it on the spot. Once I got home I found our tree stand and set about getting the tree up, all the while thinking about what a nice wife I was to pick up a tree so John wouldn't have to, especially after last year's fiasco. Soon I discovered why this particular tree was in the clearance bin- the trunk was unusually wide, so that it would not fit into the tree stand. No matter, I thought, and headed out to buy a bigger stand. Five sold-out stores later, I was back home in defeat, realizing I would have to shave the trunk down to fit into the small stand.
The saw from the year before was nowhere to be found, so I grabbed the only sharp thing I could find - our meat cleaver. It was really hard work so I had Jake come out to the living room to help, and he started whacking away at the tree trunk, briefly trying out a samurai sword he had to see if it would work better (it broke). John awoke to all of the banging and chopping and came out into the living room, half asleep, to see his entire family covered in pine needles and wood chips, trying to shove a ridiculously full tree into a teeny tiny tree stand.
We now own a very boring, six foot tall "fake" tree that can be assembled in about twenty seconds flat, and although I do miss the real trees, I've decided this is one battle John should win. For now.
Okay, so this is a VERY funny story!!! You need to submit this to a Parents magazine or something!
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