Oh Christmas. You have brought a tad bit of strife into my life. Maybe it is because of all the pregnancy hormones… maybe it is having a toddler… or maybe it is because I may or may not live with someone who is not very fond of decorating for Christmas. I have my own little decor Grinch.
Apparently decorating for Christmas is not something practical people like to do… or people with small children… or husbands who think there is no point especially since baby children destroy everything.
This is what our three Christmases have looked like with the decor Grinch:
Taylor reasons that because we would be flying home for Christmas (we lived in South Dakota at the time), there was no reason to do any decorating on our beautiful, turn of the century home that was blanketed with snow.
(People of Minnesota… this is a big deal for a Southern California girl… we do not have beautiful old houses, and if we want to see snow we take a day trip to the mountains.)
Taylor did not budge. He had zero desire to decorate when we would be gone for a week. Heaven forbid we enjoy decorations during the weeks leading up to Christmas, but I digress. I was in my first trimester and morning sickness clouded my judgment so alas… we did not decorate anything.
This is the Christmas that traumatized Taylor. I was bound and determined to give my five month old the best first Christmas ever. This meant we were decorating. We now lived in California so instead of a beautiful turn of the century yellow house with a red door, we had a third floor apartment to spruce up. I didn’t care. Once again, Tay and I went back and forth over whether or not to get a Christmas tree.
This time I won.
I had it all planned out. We would all get dressed up. We would meet at the Christmas tree farm after Taylor got off of work. We would take pictures with our adorable baby. Picking out a Christmas tree is about the experience you know. We would be the perfect, happy, Christmas card, Norman Rockwell family.
… And I would love to tell you that is what happened, but alas, my dream did not come true.
The day we were to get the tree was a very hectic day. I don’t remember why, but I know I was stressed and for some reason that was the only day we could get a tree. There was also terrible traffic. But it was going to be ok… I was going to meet my husband at that Christmas tree farm, and we were going to have a grand time.
While sitting in terrible traffic, late to our date at the Christmas tree farm, I get a call.
“I picked out a tree. Traffic is terrible so I am just going to load it up on the car.”
I just replied “Ok” and headed for home. I reasoned the entire drive back to the apartment.
“I am not going to get upset. Our baby is small so he wouldn’t remember anyways. At least we got a tree… it is a step in the right direction.”
What seemed like forever later I heard our front door open. In walks a disheveled Taylor pulling a Christmas tree. Apparently getting a tree on top of a Camry and then getting it up three flights of stairs is no easy task.
He then tries to put up the tree, but the pedestal the tree goes in is not holding the tree. Our poor tree keeps falling over, and Taylor is getting more and more frustrated. Finally, over an hour later, we are able to begin decorating our first tree with all our personal ornaments from childhood and our first years of marriage.
I am in heaven looking at our beautiful tree. I do not even mind cleaning up all the needle mess it leaves behind. I just know that even though Holden cannot talk… or crawl for that matter… my child is in awe of our beautiful tree. We head to bed.
Three am and it seems our tree has decided to commit suicide. Apparently we did not figure out how to get the pedestal to work. Thankfully, only two of our ornaments were broken in the tragedy.
I think Taylor is starting to get a nervous twitch as he surveys the mess. I just pick up the tree and lean it against the wall and leave it at that.
The Christmas tree argument is back on in full swing.
Taylor refuses to ever get a real tree again. He declares last year was his nightmare.
I am in my third trimester, and we have an active toddler who loves to destroy. Maybe I should just give up on decor. What is the point when my husband does not seem to care, and my little one is too young to notice? I thought I was at peace with this decision until… Target.
Tay hates Target. He hates it with a passion. He hates that we go in there for one thing, but then I drag him around the entire store just to look at other things he has no desire to buy. All in all… Taylor hates shopping, and Target is his personal hell. So we are both in splendid moods since I just want him to be merry and browse, and this is the last thing he wants to do with his free time. While shopping, we happen upon the Christmas tree and decor aisle. I look at all the decorations and the tree and try to squelch my desire to decorate. Then I hear Mr. Decor Grinch:
“We are not getting a tree. We are not decorating. There is no point in being in this aisle. Let’s get what we came for and go home.”
I broke. Like a toddler who is trying their best not to throw a tantrum over not being able to get their favorite toy, I bite my lower lip, say “FINE”, and head for the check out stand. People, with the amount of hormones and moodiness in this pregnant body, it was not long before I was full on crying. As an adult. In Target. Because I was not getting what I wanted. I actually had to excuse myself and go to the restroom while Taylor paid.
When we got in the car, Taylor turned to his highly emotional wife, and asks the question I had been wanting to hear,
“Do you want a tree? I will go back there and get you a tree if you want one. ”
“Yes. Yes I want a tree.”
So my friends, I got my tree. It is fake, but it is beautiful. I will have my tree every year from now on, and Tay promises to feign happiness over our decor… to the best of his ability.
Moral of the story: Even as an adult, crying gets you what you want at Christmas. Just kidding. Sort of.
Merry Christmas from our family to yours!