Getting through the holidays (holidaze?)
I’ve been in a Bah Humbug mood. I love this time of year. Really, I do. And the King of Everything is old enough to begin to understand the finer points of Christmas and not ask me why everyone is talking about the baby cheeses (of Bethlehem).
No really. Last year, we were in church and he bursts out laughing, hollering in his loudest outside voice, “BABY CHEESES! I LOVE BABY CHEESES!” Luckily, I think most of the church thought it was an outburst of faith.
I think one of the reasons I’ve been so down this year is because it’s rather difficult to do all the Christmassy things as two-thirds of a unit. I’m constantly reminded of how the rituals work when there’s a partner in the mix. Luckily, some of the reminders are good ones. I don’t have to listen to my ex complain about my family any more.
But Christmas lights? Fuggedaboudit.
Christmas lights are tricky things. You need one person to put the lights on the tree, and another one to direct. You need one person on each side of the tree to pass the lights around to. You need one person to untangle them, and one person to wrap them neatly into a manageable bundle.
I had nearly sold myself on a little, table top Charlie Brown Christmas tree. A fake one. In white. There was simply no way I could get a real life large Christmas tree into my house. I have no car. Where is my nice strong man to help me carry it? There’s only so much my kind neighbor ladies can stand. Yes, they keep offering to let me borrow their husbands for some (oh no, not all, my fine, single mamas, don’t even go there) of the manly things that need doing around the house. But how often can I really borrow them? So when the mouse traps were full (of the most horrifying sights, let me tell you… on second thought, I won’t tell you), who picked them up, tossed them away, and then washed her hands obsessively for three days straight?
Yeah, me. The SoloMother.
My parents would have gladly picked me up a little tree in their little convertable. They would have. But the King of Everything had his heart set on a real, live, BIG tree. I finally called on a dear friend of our little family and he came to the rescue, without a pause, without a hesitation. “Would you help us get our Christmas tree this Thursday afternoon?” I asked him. “Sure. I’d love to,” was his instant reply. He drove up in his trusty big car and we piled in for a trip to Home Despot Depot, where we picked out a nice, well-trussed tree. The helpful man showed the King of Everything his little buzz saw and lopped off the bottom of our tree, then let the Kid count how many rings. A ten year old tree gave its life for our festivities today. Thank you, tree. Our friend also gifted us with a wreath, a tree topper, a poinsettia, and a Nutcracker for the King. I’ve never owned a tree topper. I’m a very happy lady.
The tree is in its stand, happily drinking water and letting its limbs relax. The boy is sound asleep in his bed. I’m curled up and ready to cry for all sorts of conflicting emotions: having to put the lights on all by myself… having to rearrange the living room to fit the tree in… having somehow chosen the fattest, jolliest, most needle-shedding tree in the entire universe… and because finally, finally, it feels like Christmas chez SoloMother. On Sunday we’ll decorate the tree, and have friends over to help ring in the holidays, I hope. I just have to get through that last ritual of putting together Santa’s gifts for the KoE after he goes to bed on Christmas Eve. By myself. I wish some nice man would come over to watch It’s a Wonderful Life with me, sip eggnog and snuggle on the couch in the light of the Christmas tree.
Think Santa can give this girl her wish? I think I’ve been good. I think I’ve been very, very good.
(Photo Credit: Binary Tree by -RobW- on Flickr)
Related Stories
POSTED IN: holidays
0 opinions for Getting through the holidays (holidaze?)
No one has left a comment yet. You know what this means, right? You could be first!
Have an opinion? Leave a comment: