O Tannebaum!

Our family always goes and cuts our own Christmas tree the week-end after Thanksgiving. Then we trash the house pulling out all of our Christmas decorations and ornaments and decorate the tree, string twinkle lights on everything not moving, drink hot cider and eggnog and play Christmas music, ranging from the reverent to the absurd, loudly, so that at some point  I someone will hysterically shout mention "Turn it down!" It's what we do.

Even though we missed celebrating Thanksgiving together and we'd arrived home late on Saturday we went to the local tree cutting farm on Sunday, due to KB's pressuring us suggestion to follow at least one family tradition, picked out a tree and sawed it down. I use the word, "we" loosely here, cause my main goal on these excursions is two-fold. 1. to stay warm enough to eventually thaw out and be able to form a coherent sentence again before the day I die, and 2. to not trip and fall over tree stumps hiding in the snow/grass/weeds, further damaging my already compromised and aging skeletal system. Sawing down the tree falls under the auspices of those with upper body strength- my husband and sons as well as any daughters that want to contort on the ground as they heave and ho the saw back and forth under the sharp, needle like branches lovely boughs of the tree. Our usual tree farm is relocating so we went somewhere different this year. They didn't serve the iced Christmas cookies, have a drawing for turkey that we know we won't win or a team of Percheron's giving sleigh rides. Not only that, the owner wasn't a lovely German woman with good stories and a thick accent. We missed those things and even thought of just paying for a tree. Tradition won out, due in part, to KB"s whistling "O, Christmas Tree!" and doe-eyed imploring, even if it wasn't exactly the same.

Our tree is big and green and smells like pine and is full of twinkle lights (though not enough insists my twinkle light obsessed loving husband). It adorns the living room (where we still sleep every night) but it creates a warm and lovely ambiance. Of course, the notsolittles have moved their junk toys in there and there are now bionicle and playmobile set-ups throughout the entire 2nd story (where we do not sleep and have not moved in to) as well as 1/4 of the first floor. Did I mention that we still sleep there? My need for visual order, which is as good a friend to me as Mrs. Bennett's nerves were to her composed and tranquil husband, are distraught.

I console myself with the reminder that at some point in time our kids will be grown and gone (though, thanks to my friend Gladden, I remembered just recently that we'll be old geezers before that happens) and my house will be orderly and tame. Till then, my main job is to protect my advanced in age and compromised skeletal system from being tripped up by vicious bionicle manacles and enjoy the tree!

Is your tree up yet?