O Christmas Tree, O Christmas Tree

Every year we have our one fight a year and it comes at the time of year when there is supposed to be peace on earth and good will to men: Christmas.

What does it center around??? Getting the stupid Christmas tree. “Whoa,” you might be saying to yourself; “what kind of attitude is that? Where’s your Christmas spirit?” Let me explain.

We have this family tradition (documented in photos and everything) where we go to the Boy Scout tree sale and get the perfect tree. Sounds good so far, huh? Helping out the little kids, what’s not to love?

What’s not to love is that when we get the perfect tree home, it turns into World War III, fought and lost. Getting the stupid tree in the house is always terrible because it scratches up the door frame. Then let’s don’t forget trying to get it straight in our stupid frame. It never is straight, the tree scratches, and don’t’ forget how it is to clean up all the stupid needles that get in the carpet. Let’s don’t forget (oh, no, I’ll tell this part forever) about how the cats peed on the tree while it was waiting on the deck for the right time to bring it into the house. No matter what we put on the tree, we could NOT get rid of the cat pee smell. Then there was the horrible job of getting this 10’ monster down with murky water at the base. That was it. The real tree had to go.

The next year I was at a Christmas tree shop and there it was: the perfect tree. Tall. Dark. And handsome. Well, not really dark because it was pre-lit to boot. And here’s the best part: Half price. I bought it. Literally.

I went home and broke the new to John. Being the great husband that he is, he went with me, trailor in tow, to get our new tree. I was happy. The U.N. Peacekeepers were not needed at the Lovoy house.

It took two men to load the two huge boxes in our trailer. John briefly considered tying it down, but knew there was no way that those babies were going anywhere.

We got on the interstate. John sensing my happy mood, approached me with the idea of at least getting a small tree for the living room. I felt amiable—why not?? I had what I wanted. Then a man got beside us on the interstate and started doing this weird sign language. We couldn’t comprehend what he was trying to say until he pointed to the back of our car. We looked backward. Box #1 accounted for—but where was the second box? Dang, it was out on the interstate. I quickly contacted the State Troupers and explained in frantic terms what was happening. They wished me good luck. Thanks a lot.

John turned the car and trailer down the median and got to the other side of the interstate. Casey and I were crying at the top of our lungs as John waved off cars on the interstate as he approached the box that was languishing in the center of the road. Cars were weaving and dodging trying to miss the box. Powered by adrenalin, he dragged the stupid box that had taken two men to load, clear across the interstate. He tossed it in the trailer as Casey and I continued our wailing. Now we had another stupid tree. This was not a good start to having a happy home.

We made our way to our Boy Scout destination only to find out they had already closed for the season. We found a second Boy Scout place where we discovered they were also closed but they had left a few trees. A few sad, very sad trees. We got our tree and put it on top of the fake tree.

We made it home without incident. We put the new fake tree up and it was gorgeous. But so was the little sad tree because it was working so hard to be beautiful despite not being perfect. Don’t tell John, but the new tree can’t quite measure up to one of God’s creations. Except that the fact that the cats have never once thought about peeing on it. Merry Christmas!!