Every year I try and talk my husband out of getting a Christmas tree. This year I used the strong argument that we would be out of town for a week and when that didn’t work I tried to persuade him into getting a small live one for a change. You know the kind in a pot that you can bring outside when you’re done with the holidays, then next year bring it in to the house again.
I say, It’s dead, we are killing a tree to hang ornaments on it for a few weeks.
He says, They plant Christmas trees for the this very purpose and nothing smells better than a fresh tree.
Then I say, I can buy you a pine scented air-freshner, I can even get the one in a shape of a tree. And besides I am the one who hangs all the lights and decorations, then has to take it all down.
He shoots right back, You yelled at me the last time I tried to string the lights on the tree and said it was your job ‘cause I do it all wrong.
This year hubby and kids brought home a tree while I stayed home and made a pot of soup.
It’s perfect. It took a jiffy to string the lights.
But wanna know the best part? The kids’ joy opening up the boxes of ornaments. The delight in seeing what lay beneath the tissue paper. Their excitement, purely contagious.
Still wish we didn’t get a tree?, My hubby whispers in my ear as I hang another angel next to a photo ornament of our daughter’s first Christmas.
Like every year, I‘m speechless.
You forget the joy sometimes and just remember the fallen pine needles, the time it takes to take it all down. Then you watch your children rush to turn the lights on every morning and take on the responsibility of watering it and you can’t help but love the Christmas tree in your living room. The small symbol of joy. The cut down dead thing that makes the family slow down for a minute and read Christmas books next to it and reminds you to sip your tea slowly and sit a minute. The dead tree that brings so much joy.
Oh, I hate it when my husband is right.
by J.G. McGlothern