When we moved to DH’s native homeland four years ago, my husband told me everyone in Ireland uses fake Christmas trees. What he should have said was everyone in his family uses fake Christmas trees. And I’m not even sure that that is correct, either!
And so the argument began and lives on.
The first year, I was green to Ireland and knew no better. Thus the birth of our €69.99 evergreen tree, who resides 11 months of the year in our attic. In the one festive month it’s adorned with colorful lights and delicate ornaments insisting it’s an intimate member of our yuletide cheer. Not mine, I admit it. And because it is the season of sharing, I'll spare you my criticism, but I insist to dispel the myth, these imposters do shed needles, and the plastic kind, not even fragrant pine.
The second year was ‘The Accident” on Dec 11th. Our fake tree had been in place in the living room already, and I was in the midst of haggling DH for a real tree for the dining room window. Christmas was quickly postponed that year. We tried to enjoy the real tree lit in the Temple St. Children’s Hospital.
The third season was spent enjoying life back to normal, we had surpassed the anniversary of ‘The Accident’ and as such there was very little squabble about our have nots. While I doubt I’m guilt-free of wishing upon a live fresh sprig of a Christmas tree, that year I parked that argument in lieu of health and recovery.
This brings us to this year. I’ll pause for a minute while you readers recollect or read my recent status change that basically took half our income and tossed it to the wind in favor of quality life. Apparently, a quality of life that does not necessarily start with live cut Christmas trees. So you see, I have set aside my long forlorn love of a real live tree...for now. But clearly my desire lives on in someone...
On Wednesday last week, as my body suffered aches and pains, my mind seriously doubted my capability to deal with a live wire 3 yo and a pale sickly 4 yo. In the early morning DH volunteered to stay home as our nurse warden.
In an effort to keep us all entertained and in line, DH began the descend of Christmas boxes from the attic. At this Babydoll began her Christmas excitement:
Yippee! Christmas decorations!
Daddy, are you going to bring down the fake Christmas tree?
Daddy, can we decorate the fake Christmas tree?
When are we going to put up the fake Christmas tree?
Where are we going to put up the fake Christmas tree?
Daddy, when can we decorate the fake Christmas tree?
Assembly begins. Babydoll doesn’t miss a beat…
Daddy is the fake Christmas tree ready yet?
Quickly, yet focused, DH emerges from his task of screwing metal branches at the solid base of the tree to get up close and personal with Babydoll. With a sudden silence and girls’ eyes as big as saucers, DH had their full attention. He spoke sternly.
Listen to me closely. This is a Christmas tree. This is our Christmas tree. We do not call it a fake Christmas tree! It is a Christmas tree. It is our Christmas tree. Got it?
Just as well he got her before she started singing, “O Fake Christmas Tree, O Fake Christmas Tree”.