I blame Larry. I blame Larry because he hates Christmas. Well, he doesn't actually hate Christmas but he does hate Christmas trees. At least real ones. And, to me, that's as heinous as hating the baby Jesus.
Maybe that's a tad harsh. But he is Jewish. So I'm not too far off.
Have I offended everyone yet? Anyone left out there?
OK. Let me back up and start again.
Larry dislikes the hassles and tribulations of real Christmas trees. And, as he is not a Christian, I guess it would be hard for him to appreciate the tradition of a beautiful, large, full, pine-smelling tree in one's living room.
It would be really hard for him to appreciate it because it has never actually happened in the Ferchaw home.
Year after year, we've brought home a Charlie Brown tree. But without the charm and retro soundtrack.
Our trees are never tall. They are never full. And, most of the time, they are never alive.
So by December 26th, we are pretty much throwing our tree out the front door before it catches on fire.
But this year was a doozy, I tell you.
I had a million errands to run the weekend after Thanksgiving, so I sent Larry and the kids by themselves to a Christmas tree farm. It was one of those places where there are live trees you can cut down on the spot so they are fresh as fresh can be.
Now I don't particularly trust Larry's judgement in Christmas trees.
And I don't want to say that Larry is trying to sabotage Christmas....
But Larry is TOTALLY trying to sabotage Christmas. He's been angling to get a fake tree from the moment he said "I do." I'm sure of it. And that's why he's been wearing me down, year after year, with these horrible bushes he brings home.
But, being lazy, I sent him by himself with specific instructions. If you don't find the perfect tree, DON'T BUY ANYTHING.
Well, he bought something all right. And apparently he bought it from some crazy gun-wielding libertarians who owned the farm. Shoulda been a sign right there, Larry!
When he finally brought it home this past weekend, I thought at first, "It's not TOO bad."
But it was bad. It had wire-y looking branches and big, gaping holes all over it. But, even weirder for freshly-cut tree, it looked dead instead. Both figuratively and literally.
But I bit my tongue because I didn't pick it. Never send a Jewish man to do a Christian woman's job. Will I ever learn that?
The kids and I decorated it in hopes that ornaments would liven it up. They didn't. It looked even worse, if that's possible. Looking at it, you could see that its trunk was curved almost like an S. So it didn't exactly stand up straight no matter how you turned or tilted it. I called it Scoliosis Tree. Maya called it Mr. Bendy Bones. We shrugged.
Then Mr. Bendy Bones got evil. Its weak branches
Maya's tears fell as she cursed the tree with her eyes. I turned her head so that it wouldn't seek revenge later.
Then, last night. I'm upstairs on the computer when I get a phone call from Larry....who is inside the house.
"Come downstairs," he whispers.
"Why?" Should I be scared? Or excited? Maybe he has a cool surprise for me like jewelry or chili cheese fries? No. I should be scared.
"The tree is falling!"
I make my way downstairs. But I guess I wasn't quick enough to catch it because the pinche tree came crashing down onto my chair -- ornaments shattering in its wake.
My first reaction is to take pictures. Then laugh. Then freak out because our new puppy is about to step on the broken glass. I try to help Larry pick it up but more ornaments begin to rain down.
So I took a deep breath, looked at that evil tree and calmly told Larry, "Remove all the ornaments quickly before any more break. We are getting rid of this lemon."
And that's just what we did. I broke the news to Maya that Mr. Bendy Bones was no longer part of the family. She said she would now call him Mr. Broken Bones. I said I would call him Firewood.
So tonight was rather depressing as we went from Target to Home Depot to Sears looking at picked-over, clearance display artificial trees to pick one that will become a poor stand-in at the biggest moment of our kids' year. We found one and Larry was practically giddy.
I was not.
"Cheer up," he said. "It will only be our tree for a couple years. Ten years max! And we got a screaming deal on it! A screaming deal!"
Nothing says Christmas to a Jew like a screaming deal.
Annoyed and tired, I told him to just get us home because I had "lady issues."
He shut the ef up, shoved the three parts of our new "tree" in the car and drove us home.
Merry Christmas to the Baby Jesus.
And Merry Christmas, one and all! I am sincerely happy to have you all in my life. And nothing about my feelings are fake. ;-)