O Xmas Tree, O Xmas Tree

Why aren't you blogging, my husband asked me yet again. Ummm. Because my fingers are cramped from writing; because I worked in public today for the first time in ages after struggling through the throes of new friendship at the park and I’m feeling anti-social; because I made butternut squash muffins, did laundry, did the dishes, and straightened up at 10 p.m. after putting the children down to sleep so really I’d rather goof off than produce. But then, as I unraveled the blogosphere, I ended up here and here, which prompted me to write about last year's Christmas tree. Really it was the cheeseblog that got me going but Moobz was so funny. Anyway, I was posting a comment to the cheeseblog and it got so long and unwieldy I decided to make it a post instead. Why waste all that time typing, kill two birds with one stone, and all that. Can you tell it's been weeks since I had more than 4 or 5 hours of sleep? (Those hours would not be in a row, by the way.) Which could have something to do with why I don't want to post - it requires thought! (Or it should.)

So here is a completely pointless post. (Are they all? A couple of the blogs I read today said as much, or nearly so – but I don’t agree. However, this one certainly is.) I've had one fake tree ever, last year. In a fit of new toddler and new baby paranoia, we decided that real trees might be dangerous for the children. (Why???) We found the tree on sale at Lowes. It was large and lovely and perfect. The most beautiful perfectly perfect tree we’d ever seen. And it was cheap! So we took it home.

But the lights were pre-wired and I just couldn't get them to look right. Instead of warm holiday light it was THERE’S A TREE ON FIRE IN THE CORNER. So in a fit of OCD, I took out bulb after bulb trying to tone down the inferno until I finally got it just right. My husband looked at it and said, It is good. The toddler stroked the fake needles. I smiled in my arm chair and took the baby on my lap to nurse, and it was good. Then the entire top of the tree went dark. So what did we do, you might wonder (or not). Well, I’ll tell you. We went to bed. And the next day, I wound the tree round with a strand of lights, and it was good. We all admired it, went to the kitchen for some hot spiced apple cider to toast it with, and when we came back, the middle of the tree was dark. Repeat exercises of previous evening and the ensuing morning. Then repeat it all again after the last third of the tree went dark.

We promptly returned the tree and came home with a live tree (or what used to be one), though by then it was so late in the season the needles were just barely hanging on – that is until we got it through the front door, at which point they made a fragrant but sappy brown runner across our expensive woven designer rug.

Tra la la la la, la la la la.