Tree Trimming 2011

You’d think that a blog post about tree trimming every year would get old, but each year our tree trimming tradition is a little different from the year before. This year, it was much different because we donated our artificial tree and bought a real tree.

In the movies, they take so much time to pick the perfect tree and the whole family is a part of the process. They go bundled up and red-nosed together and make it a family event. We aren’t a Hollywood family. I researched online what tree I wanted so there would be no standing around at the tree place. We did not take the whole family. Chad and I strode into Lowe’s with a purpose. We went straight to the Fraser Fir section, picked out the first tree I saw and looked at it like Chevy Chase looked that the Grand Canyon. I said, “That’s the one” and we were done.

One of the reasons we chose to donate our massive artificial tree was because Chad hurt his back every year getting it out of the attic. He has arthritis in his spine and several disc problems and the tree became a nemesis. An evil, inanimate genius bent on ruining our chances at a harmonious, family tree-trimming experience. Chad would grumble and curse as he threw the tree into the living room and that set the tone for the entire night. Much as my Dad set the tone every year of my youth with the jumbled strand of infernal tree lights and his never-ending quest to put them away in a manner less jumbled for the next year.

Here’s the rub…there’s no getting around the back pain. You either drop a 400 pound artificial tree out of your attic or you carry a 100 pound tree through a store and out to the truck then into the house.

As Chad was walking through Lowe’s, each step he took left a pile of fir needles behind him. My first thought was that we were modern Hansel and Gretel, but as we got closer to the checkout lane, I worried whether the tree would have any needles left or if we’d get home with the world’s tallest Charlie Brown Christmas tree.
All was well and we got it home and set upright (mostly).

This year marks the first year that Pearce can brag about being the tallest person in the house, so he was more than willing to help me string the lights and place the garland on the tree. This created almost a complete 180 degree change in the placement of ornaments. I’ve always let the kids decorate the tree and I never move any of them when it’s done. In the past, our tree was always VERY bottom-heavy. In fact, I’d say the top 1/3 of the tree was general bare. But this year, Pearce enjoyed his new height status so well that our tree is decidedly top-heavy.
And because Cade is…well…Cade, the bottom of the tree is decidedly neglected and rather bare. Cade was far too busy trying to fully fit himself into the Christmas storage boxes to do things like decorate.

Stone proved to be a kid with a purpose. For every 5 ornaments Pearce and Cole hung, Stone hung one – perfectly. He was frustrated with the bendiness of the branches; much different from the artificial tree branches he was accustomed to. He hung and rehung every ornament. And when the rest of us were done and ready to throw tinsel on the tree, he was still methodically hanging every ornament in our storage box. No decoration got left behind.

And finally, we threw the tinsel on the tree and recounted the stories of my mother’s strict adherence to the Tinsel Placement Method (complete with wrist flicking and correct number of strands) and stories of Chad throwing whole clumps on tinsel on his childhood trees. We drank our eggnog and ate our chocolate covered cherries and stood back and looked at our tree.

The boys marveled at how it was the most beautiful one yet and I agreed and nodded emphatically. Because it is. Beautiful. In its own way. My friends are posting pictures of their trees on Facebook and I admit I look at them with envy. Their trees are straight out of a decorator’s magazine. One day I might have that department store tree. But for now, my tree is just like us – quirky, a bit too loud, and totally random. And beautiful.

Here it is, along with some pictures of our night.





Here's Chad at his first attempt to cut an inch off the bottom of the tree. He quickly handed the hacksaw to Pearce who promptly broke it trying to saw too hard.




We had to go to power tools...but I'm still questioning why we chose to do this in the living room???



Here is Pearce's imitation of a Christmas tree.




Pearce putting up the garland Nice checkerboard pattern.



Who needs clothes when you have a great accessory? Stone was not in time out. I have no idea why he is standing in the corner over there.




Ok, I made him put PJs on.



Stone concentrating on hanging everything perfectly.



Cole being incredibly cute.



Before I explained to Pearce that the 'tree skirt' goes UNDER the tree...







Placing the tree skirt where it belongs.



Bodhi is so happy all the craziness is over. He doesn't understand why we go through all that trouble just so he has a nice place to nap.

Ugliest Halloween Costume Ever (a.k.a. I’m a pretty princess)

Stone asked me on Halloween Day if I would dress up to take him to Trunk or Treat. I told him I thought I could pull something together. He said, “Can you go as a princess?” I replied that I didn’t have time to go get a princess costume, but my thought was, ‘this kid doesn’t know his mama at all.’ He then replied, “Ok, you can just go as a regular human being.” I laughed and said, “So, I can just go like this?” He looked at me with all the incredulousness a 5-year-old can muster and said, “No, with pretty clothes.”

You know how I love to backtrack. My next door neighbors hold a Halloween party every year. They set a theme and I usually let that drive what Chad and I are going to dress up as. Unfortunately, last year Stone was too sick for us to make their party or trick-or-treating. This year, I was too sick to attend their party. But, the theme they picked was People of Walmart. If you don’t know what this is and you want to be truly disturbed, please check out www.peopleofwalmart.com. I had put together our costumes for the party before I got sick and, well, that’s what the plan was. So, Stone was just out of luck.

I took a shower and while my hair was still wet, I got some hair gel and just gooped it on thick. I put mascara on then rubbed it around a little. I put my zebra-striped jammies on and a pink tank top over a black bra Then, I added a fake tattoo. Flip flops with chipped toe-nail polish. No makeup. It was AWFUL. When I was done, I was just so ugly I could hardly look at myself in the mirror. So, naturally, I took this picture and texted it to my husband:

I then trotted into the kitchen to show Stone and he was dismayed beyond belief. He said, “No, mommy. That’s ugly.” And I said, “Well, it’s comfortable, so this is what it is.” And that was the last thing he said to me about the costume.

We went to church and participated in Trunk or Treat where friends of mine looked at me like they had a bad taste in their mouth. Two of my friends didn’t recognize me and thought I was truly a person who needed to take a shower. When I spoke to them and recognition happened, it was my favorite moment of the evening. Well – until later. I’m getting to that.

When we got home, I had a little time to snuggle on the couch with Stone. I was still donning my horrible costume and he still had his cute little bat nose and whiskers on. While we were watching a Funniest Home Video program, he looked up at me and said, “Mommy?” I looked down and answered, “Yes, sweetie?” and he said, “You are beautiful.”

That was all. He looked back at the TV without another word. And I realized; this is the way he sees me. He wanted me to dress like a princess because I’m his beautiful mommy, not because I’m a girl and I need to dress like a princess. I looked down at his blonde head for a long moment and just praised God for him. For that innocent love – for his seeing way past my external appearance.

Next year, I’m dressing up as whatever he asks. Who knows what that might be. If it’s a princess, so be it. I might dress Chad up as a frog to keep some humor in it all, but I’ll be a beautiful princess if my 6-year-old still sees me that way.

The Witching Hour (a.k.a. Wired)

Yesterday, I stayed home sick with a sinus/respiratory infection. I felt so bad, I couldn’t finish the coffee Chad made me – which is unusual (the fact that I couldn’t finish it – not the fact that he made it for me). But, I went to the doctor, got medicine, and steeled myself for Halloween festivities.

Last night was a night of several firsts. It was the first Halloween where Cade was old enough to understand the correlation between the words “trick or treat” and the release of candy from grown-ups’ hands into his candy bag. It was also the first Halloween after we discovered his peanut allergy. We kept a watchful eye on him the whole night because he’s a bit of a kleptomaniac. And he’s very fast. He can have candy open and consumed before you can twinkle your nose.

We always go to our church for Trunk Or Treat and when it was all over, we counted it a great success and loaded kids up in the truck to grab some dinner. We hear Cole say, “Cade, where did you get that Butterfinger?” and Chad and I go into panic mode. Chad flies across the truck Dukes of Hazzard-style and I crush Stone in an effort to get across the back seat to where Cade is. We get the offensive candy out of his hands, but not until he’s had at least a bite of it.

Ok, we tell ourselves – this isn’t too bad. Cade’s reaction to peanuts is usually lots of grumpiness, crying to the point of hysteria, and an asthmatic response that requires a breathing treatment. It isn’t a rush-to-the-ER, epipen-to-the-jugular situation. I'm rereading that last sentence and thinking maybe I watch too much TV...

We get home, feed the kids, and put them to bed. Everything seems ok. Until the crying starts from Cade’s room. He tells us he doesn’t feel good in a tone that is heart-breaking. We hold him, rock him, let him watch TV with us for a little while. He tells me, “I want to go to my bed” and I take him then I go to bed myself. Not more than 5 minutes later, he’s crying again. Chad brings him to me and he stays for about 5 minutes then starts crying again. He wants to go back to his room. I take him and try to rub his back and he’s flipping over and over again like he’s had baby-speed. I think – ugh! – is this too much Halloween candy or is this peanut-related? For the next 4 hours, we hold him, get him water, take him to our bed, take him to his bed, walk with him, rub his back, and give him a breathing treatment. He’s crying that he’s tired and wants to go to sleep, but he’s tossing and turning and can’t get comfortable.

Finally, he collapses and goes to sleep – well after 2am. We are unsure what is to blame for the evening’s drama. Then I discover it.

Remember the coffee Chad made me? The one I didn’t feel good enough to drink? I also didn’t feel good enough to take it to the kitchen. And there’s the cup sitting on my nightstand. Empty. And I realize that my 3-year-old, who LOVES coffee, found an opportunity to drink and entire cup of it at some point after we got home from Trunk Or Treat. And then we gave him albuterol because we thought he was having a reaction to the Butterfinger.

Kids like Cade (or should I say parents like me) are the reasons there are so many resources related to baby-proofing a house. If only I could baby-proof the part of my memory dedicated to making sure my coffee mugs are rinsed out.