Last Saturday, the family loaded up in the Yukon to head to our favorite local tree farm. It was time for the annual cutting of the Christmas Tree. In my head this is my perfect Currier & Ives or Norman Rockwell moment, (In fact, my "dream job" is to own and operate a Christmas Tree farm, even though I know zero about this) but alas, this is no perfectly scripted Christmas card we are talkin' about!
So we arrive, the sun is shining on the freshly fallen snow and we make our way back to the blue spruces. (I like this picky stiff tree because it really can hold up my heavy ornaments). After several minutes of negotiations, we finally settle on "the perfect tree". Osto goes to task on cutting the bugger down, while T-bird proceeds to throw a snowball in Chooch's face, sending him crying (but only a little...I would have cried too). Meanwhile the kids are fighting and being loud and crazy. Then each kid wants a turn at the saw, which is not an easy task since the branches reach the snowy ground and it is difficult to maneuver. Bird makes little progress, Cal can't move it at all, and Chooch wails because he doesn't get a turn, which leads to another little breakdown.
We finally get it down, and then swing it up on top of the truck because it is too far to drag it to the barn where you pay. (This is where I am saying, "If I owned a tree farm, there would be a horse drawn wagon to load your tree on to pull it back to the barn. They would have a roaring fire where you could sip complementary coffee or hot chocolate with marshmallows...I digress).
Since our tree is not tied down yet, Osto suggests I stand up through the sun roof and hold on to the tree. Fine. Until he proceeds to take the bumpiest route at a pace way faster than he should with an unattached tree on the roof his car and his lovely bride sticking out of the sunroof holding on for dear life (ok, that's a stretch), getting her ribs smashed with each rock and roll of the Yukon. Swear words ensue, even the "F" word! (gasp).
Upon arrival at the barn, the tree is stuck in the shaker, shoved through the binder and thrown back on top of the truck, where Osto proceeds to "instruct" me on the art of tying down a tree, while proclaiming his vast knowledge of tree tying down knots. (Which, if you ask me, he makes up on the fly and do not constitute "real" knots anyways). So, I am cold and I am not doing it right and I get in the car. More swear words, this time one with a "A" are said.
So on the way home, everyone is mad or tired or upset or on each other's last nerve. Exactly the way I envisioned it in my head! HA! Luckily, apologies were made and the day was salvaged with the help of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. The tree was trimmed and turned out to be our most beautiful tree ever (of course).