The Tree Incident of 2015

Low rumble. Longer, low rumble. LOUD rumble. THUD! Shatter, shatter, shatter! These are not noises one enjoys waking up to at any time of year, but especially in December.

I have to stop here and tell you, honestly, I pretty much hate December. Yes, there's Christmas. God took on human form in order to communicate His love to us. That was awesome, and I appreciate it, I really do. But do we have to get so CRAZY? The grocery store, the radio, and school, school, school, school. We're doing Christmas bulletin boards and Christmas Music Programs and making Christmas presents for our Parents and all the while telling kids to calm the heck down. Plus there's snow, then there's not snow, then there's snow again, and kids don't know if they need to wear shorts or a snowmobile suit out to recess. And we always get the flu at our house. Or strep. Or pneumonia. Somebody's always sick and Eric and I have to draw straws to see who's gonna try to get a substitute at 6:00am. Anyway, I digress. My point is, despite my birthday and Christmas both landing in this month, I hate December. And so, being rudely awakened by these sounds when it was ALREADY December was not a good thing.

So, the hubby and I were sleeping fitfully--dreaming of Christmas programs gone wrong and that one lady who called us on Christmas Eve morning to chew Eric out--when we heard the rumble, rumble, RUMBLE, THUD, SHATTER! We didn't move. We didn't "spring from our beds to see what was the matter". I sat up a bit, and Eric snarled, "What the hell was that?"

"I am assuming the tree, E."

"What tree??!"

Pause. "The Christmas tree?"

Bigger pause. "Shit."

Now I must stop and tell you a secret about my husband. During the day, he is incredibly thoughtful and generous. In fact, for Christmas, he gave me a jar filled with papers upon which he has written "Remember when...?" or "I love about you..." or "We're doing this!" and each morning of 2016 I get to choose one. He once bought a huge jar, filled it with jelly beans, and removed all the blacks, purples, and whites, because I hate those. He bakes cookies when he's alone with the kids and I have conferences. He looks up items and foods and people that no one even remembers me mentioning, and brings them to me. He is a fantastic, wonderful, superior human being. When he is awake. However, if you wake my husband up in the night, he is a completely different person. He's a real jackass; there's just no other way to put it. This is why I have always dealt with the kids getting up, etc, in the night, because, well, he'd just plain be mean. He really can't help it--think of it like bed wetting. My husband has night mood issues. We usually just work around it.

However, the night of the rumble, rumble, RUMBLE, THUD, SHATTER! we could not work around it. So, we both got out of bed and headed to the living room. Not good.

The tree, which we had artfully decorated that evening, had been carefully placed in the middle of the living room. We wanted it to be the focal point this year. We had put all the kids' wrapped presents all the way around the tree, put a rug over cord, and turned all the furniture so it was facing the center of the room. Somehow, this beautiful Frasier Fir had completely flipped out of the stand, and was now lying innocently on its side. Several ornaments had bit it when they hit the laminate floor, and were now shattered about the room. Presents' paper had been punctured, and water was pouring out of the stand all over the floor. It sucked.

This was not our first time to a tree tipping party. Way back in the '00s (like '06, '07...), we would get HUGE trees. Trees that we needed a step ladder to decorate. Trees that touched the top of our cathedral ceiling. They were beautiful. But they always tipped over. Yes, we tied them. They would just tilt on the axis of the fish line. Yes, we bought a better stand. They would just bring the tree stand over with them (which I'm not even sure is physically possible, but it happened). So, this is not our first horse and pony show with the tree being a disaster. We've threatened many a time to get the plug-it-in ready, artificial tree, but neither of us can seem to actually go through with it. We love the smell. We love the look. We love real trees. They just don't seem to love us.

Now, I did mention it was 2:00am, right? Well, I said it was night. I didn't say it was 2:00am. Let me tell you: it was 2:00. A freaking M. Eric began barking about getting towels, moving presents, sweeping up the glass. He started to untwist the bolts in the stand, attempting to free the tree stump. As we were righting the tree, he said, "How did this happen, anyway?"

Now, this may shock you, but I was not gallivanting around the living room at 2:00am, running circles around the tree, swiping at it with a bat or golf club. I was not jumping up and down next to the tree, seeing if I could get it to fall. I wasn't even near the tree. But, I know that Night Time Eric still blamed me, in that moment, for the tree being on its side.

Fortunately for me, as the words were still dripping from his mouth and landing in a pool of venom on the living room floor, the dog sauntered by. She was trying to be casual, gave a little wave of her giant, Golden Retriever tail, and kept her eyes specifically pointed away from our faces. Not a big gesture, just a little, "Hi guys, how's it going? I had nothing to do with this gigantic disaster. Nope. No, sir. I was sleeping with my head snugly under your bed. Yup. Minding my ooooown business.
Just wanted to see if I could help out in any way..."

Eric took one look at her submissive little face and growled, "Liiiilllllyyyy," deep and low. I haven't even seen the dog take off that quickly when FOOD is involved. So, now we knew our cause. We just had to figure out a solution.

Somehow, we were able to communicate to one another that we would upright the tree, I would hold it up, and Eric would screw the bolts back in. We did not, however, communicate to one another that A) Eric had to pee like nobody's business and B) I was feeling slightly lightheaded (if I get up, I have to eat. Doesn't matter what time it is.). So, we were surrounded by the tree, Eric was lying on the ground, snapping, "Hold it UP. No, UP. UP! Now move it this way. NO, UP!" To make matters worse, we had hidden those STUPID elves (we have THREE) in the tree. I popped one out and put it in the nearby poinsettia, where I would tell Ben it dove for cover the next morning. Eric said, "Seriously, that's your concern right now? The elves?"

I said, "Stop being so mean!" and he said, "Then hold the stupid thing up!" and I said, "I'm trying! I don't know what you want from me!" and he said, "It's two-freaking-twenty, Laura!" and I felt it. Do you know that feeling? It starts in my ears. They get fuzzy, almost like a bee is flapping its tiny wings against them. Then my cheeks feel hot, and slowly the feeling drains out of them. It was coming. I was going to have to say something.

"I'm going to faint."

"What? You're WHAT?"

"I'm going to faint. I am going to pass out. I don't have the tree. We're going to have to switch jobs."

"Seriously? Are you being completely serious with me right now? You're gonna FAINT? Good God. Fine. Fine. Let's switch, then!"

We switched. He held the tree. I put my head between my knees. It was ridiculous.

Then, I shimmied under the tree and screwed the bolts in. They did not seem tight, in fact they didn't even seem perpendicular to the tree, but it was standing, so I let it go. It was two-freaking-twenty, you know. We could fix it all the next day.

We filled up the stand with water, shoved the tree way over by the sliding door, scolded the dog, and went to bed. I'd like to say the next night's festivities were a simple fix, but they actually involved Eric making a SECOND drive to Cheboygan for the day, in order to purchase a new tree stand, and this was after two hours of me holding the tree-Eric screwing and unscrewing the bolts, Eric holding the tree-me screwing and unscrewing the bolts. At one point, I took the little plastic heads off the bolts, tightened them, then loosened them and put them back on. Dumb, dumb dumb, dumb. So Eric drove to Cheboygan and I slapped pajamas on the children, shoved them in their beds, and tried to clean up as much of the mess as possible before he got back.

When Eric returned with a seven-dollar tree stand, we did not have high hopes. There was talk of tossing the damn thing off the back porch. But, really it went up without a hitch. We redecorated, kept it by the window, blocked off the living room from Lily's tail by putting the ottomans (ottomen?) in her way. The tree still stands today. It is a Christmas miracle.

A week ago, I sat with Becca on the couch, we turned off the lights and set the tree aglow. I sang "Silent Night" and "Away in a Manger" and "We Three Kings" and "Once in Royal David's City". We cuddled and stared at the tree, and I looked at all the ornaments, each of which holds a memory for our family. It was so, so beautiful. I still hate December. I definitely still hate that tree. But tomorrow, as we take it down (so that Ben can return to a semblance of his pre-December self), a little piece of my heart will go with it. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.