Man Jobs

We put the Christmas tree up night before last. I am such a girl though...I hate having to do things I call "Man Jobs." That would include the hauling in of the tree and wrestling it into the stand, screwing in those screws that never work and then putting on the lights. Those are the portions of the tree triming my father always did, and I really detest the job.

Anyway, my 12 year old and I wrestled the thing (Why oh why can't I ever get a tree that actually fits in my house???) into the house and sort of slid it into the stand. Then with my son holding the tree (at who knows what angle) and me lying on the floor giving instructions, "push it back a little...okay now over to the right a little...okay, now your other right...that's it," I screwed in those stupid screws...bypassed the trunk entirely on one side, screwed the screw right through the tree on the other, bent the third screw so that it wouldn't screw in at all, and got tired and quit on the 4th screw. I crawled out from under the tree and put my hands on my hips and told my son..."okay...you can let go now."

As I stood there nodding my head, the tree began leaning to the right. Well...okay...I pushed it back up and let go. It started to lean backward. Damn. I got some styrofoam I had laying around in the storage room, broke it up and stuffed it in all around the tree trunk. Again climbed out from under the tree, brushed myself off and again told my son, "you can let go now." Success! For about 15 seconds. The tree began a slow forward descent. I caught it and was able to manipulate it into a standing position where, as long as no one let out a breath, it might be okay.

I pulled all of the lights out of their box and plugged them in one by one. Hmmmm...3 of the 11 100-light strands failed to light. Fine. I said to my son, "make sure the tree doesn't fall over, I'll be right back." I hopped in the car and headed for Rite Aid. After very carefully scanning the lights to make sure I was getting "multi-color" strands (having accidentally purchased all green or all red before), I waited in line with all the other people making their yearly replacement light strand purchases, and headed back home.

Eager to get started triming the tree, I pulled the lights out of the box. ARGGGGGHHHHH! Multi colored lights alright...on WHITE wire. Back in the box, back in the car, back to Rite Aid...returned incorrect lights...purchased correct lights...back in the car...back home. I took off my coat for the third time in an hour and finally the lights went on the tree. Halleluiah! Lights strung, the fun process of going through the ornaments (we always remember them like old friends...its so fun to remember past Christmases) began and the tree was decorated. We had dinner, watched two episodes back to back of Who's Line is it Anyway...and went to bed.

3:00 a.m. CRASH!!!!!

I woke to that kind of noise you know instinctively is not a good noise. But 3 or 4 bleary seconds later, I knew exactly what it was. Ohhhhhh nooooooooo. I got up out of my warm bed and heard my son's bedroom door open. "The tree?" he said. "Yeah...think so," I replied. We headed out to the living room. There...lying across the floor, blocking our way, was our Christmas tree...ornaments flung hither and yon, water dripping out of the stand onto the carpet, lights draped in odd abstract patterns. The cat wandered in...stretched...surveyed the mess...and looked accusingly at me. "What?" I said. We pulled the tree up and leaned it against the window...sort of pushed everthing back to the corner and went back to bed.

Well...needless to say, yesterday morning I had to pull off the remaining ornaments, unstring the lights, wrestle the tree back out of the stand, soggy bits of styrofoam everywhere. But...I managed to get it back in, considerably more stable this time...lights back on, ornaments back on...etc., etc. What a lot of work! But ohhhhhh, it really is lovely. And the smell! Worth every bit of work in my opinion. It would have been much better, though, if there had been A MAN AROUND TO DO THE MAN JOBS. I told my son that I expect him to be a man by next Christmas. He rolled his eyes and went back to his playstation.

Today I had a list of chores "as long as my arm," as a very dear friend of mine likes to say. After a late breakfast and the dishes, putting on a load of laundry, my son and I went outside to put the Christmas lights on the front of the house. They're what I call "drippy lights." You know the kind...I think they're called icicle lights? Not sure. Anyway...THIS IS A MAN'S JOB. Hauling ladders, trying not to staple my eye with a staple gun, untangling the lights, climbing on top of the house, hanging precariously over the side to staple my finger that is holding the string of lights, crab-walking down incline of the roof to my son's horror and embarrassment (he looks up and down the street and says, "Mom, can't you just stand up and walk like a human?"), I finally got the lights up.

Its Christmas...my favorite time of year. All these events, the good and the bad, the rush and hustle, its all memory-making. After getting the lights on the house, my son and I raked the last of the leaves. We were bagging the leaves and had to stop...laughing hysterically at each other's stupid jokes, and it occurred to me that this is another one of those post card moments that I will pull out of my head when I'm an old, old woman...and will remember with such clarity and fondness. This Christmas with my son, past Christmases when my older son was home too, their faces, their words, their laughter. Future Christmas when I am with their families. Each one its own snapshop in time.

Recently my older son and I were at a work function of mine and he made a comment that absolutely blessed me...just warmed my heart so thoroughly. I can't remember how it came up, but he mentioned that whenever he smells cinnamon and other spices, he is thrown immediately back to his childhood and Christmas...he said, "it just smells like home." I must be something of a simpleton to be so easily pleased...but that really just did it for me.

Merry Christmas from our home to yours.