Sunday, 11 December 2016

Oh Christmas tree....

Well the tree is in...

The husband takes great joy in winding me up as to how big it's going to be this year (I always assume that he is talking about the Norwegian Spruce, but you can never be too sure, so some smiling and patient nodding is always advised).  We must be the only family I know who have to take a trailer to the Tree Barn to pick ours up.  There's none of that pushing it between the seats, or strapping it to a roof rack (if we did this, I would imagine that the husband's wheels would look like Bambi's legs on ice). 

As befitting our family tradition, we all bundled up to the Tree Barn yesterday afternoon.  Son number one and daughter number two were missing presumed happy, but we kind of made up numbers with son number two's girlfriend ELL.  Every year, I make the kids choose one decoration each for the tree, and over the years many memories have been stored up.  When they were younger, the decorations they picked tended to verging on horrific - I have Santa in an aeroplane, a frog on a lily-pad (typically Christmassy, don't you agree?)  There have been icicles, long garlands of bells, bird tables and piles of books (daughter number two, ever the scholar). 

As they have got older, they have tended to be more sensible, and I think we peaked last year with their choices.  Four black balls which you could put your own message on in chalk.  The husband and I were made to disappear while they wrote on the balls, and then they were hung on the tree.  Daughter number one's read 'I'm the favourite' (poor deluded girl) and son number two's read 'Don't worry, I'll pay for your nursing home' (poor deluded boy).  I can't repeat what was on the other two, but needless to say, under cover of darkness, they were moved to the back of the tree.

Son number one has asked me the same question every time we do this Christmas shop, and it's not 'Can I pay for this?'  No, he asks me every year whether we can get some spray snow.  I have said no every year, except for last year - a decision I soon came to regret.  The two boys through it would be a jolly wheeze to spray some snow on the bird table roof.  Lovely, I hear you say.  No, not lovely, as they sprayed the word 'Tit' on the roof.  I tried kidding myself that it was bird-related graffiti, but had to wait for the rain to hammer down before it started to fade.

So we finally got the decorations and headed for the till.  I am always shocked at how much a basket of tat can cost these days, and duly fleeced we headed back to the husband and the tree.  Now the husband's trailer is 8' long, and the still netted tree stuck out over the back by another 8'.  This was a monster...

It took several attempts to get it upright, with son number two and the husband taking most of the weight.  Daughter number one and I had our own responsibility - filming the husband as he sweated and blasphemed in a most un-Christmas like fashion.

And then out came the scissors to cut the net and release the tree. The feathery boughs slowly dropped and fanned out into the most beautiful tree.

It's perfect...

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