O Christmas Tree

This past weekend we got our Christmas tree.

I know it’s a bit on the early side but I was very focused on having it up and ready this weekend just gone so that I didn’t descend into a slough of despond after my trip back home which was so wonderful and life-affirming.
I am, of course, ecstatic to see the children again, but you know how it is; after time out of ordinary life it can be a bit of a downer just to slide into the same old day-to-day routines.
Re-entry blues, my mother always called it.

I thought Yuletide festivities would be the perfect antidote.

Friday night they had a Christmas parade in Stepford. It’s usually a very sweet affair with marching bands from all the local junior high schools who play slightly out of time and out of tune, slow-moving floats bearing enthusiastic children holding hands in their Sunday best belting out ‘Frosty the Snowman’ at top volume.
But this year for some strange reason there was a preponderance of monster trucks decorated with antlers and tinsel driven by men in baseball caps with elf ears who found it almost impossible not to punch out a percussive Jingle Bells on their horns or let off impressively loud sirens and flashing lights which tended to drown out the wavering voices of  infants.  There were also some giant flatbeds bearing teenagers wearing santa hats thrusting their pelvises to blaring hip hop music which I rather loved, but overall the impression of the parade was, as Husband said, a little low rent.

I hoped we could get the tree on Saturday and it would be a lovely family outing although I did expect to meet a bit of resistance from Husband.
He is, as I may have mentioned, German, and in his family they only got their tree on the 23rd of December (i.e. one day before they celebrated Christmas) and it is now part of our family tradition to have an argument about when we get ours.

I thought I’d work on Five first. She’s a pretty reliable ally, especially when there is a potential for sugar (I’m thinking candy canes). To my surprise and frank displeasure she vetoed the idea on the grounds that the pine needles might fall off and it was too early. She suggested getting the tree on Christmas Eve.

WHAT??!!!!

Had Husband been coaching her? (strenuously denied by both parties)

Had she been watching A Charlie Brown Christmas? (met first with blank look then subsequent canny offer to view immediately)

Had she developed an early sense of responsibility regarding the creation of mess? (excuse me while I retrieve myself from the floor after hysterical fit of mirth)

Despite my rather impressive and detective-like (I thought) line of questioning, she refused to be drawn and merely told me that the subject was closed.

Those were her words.

Wait, aren’t I the mother?

I turned to Husband, speechless, and he remarked mildly that it was a bit early, perhaps next weekend might be better, and not to get upset with Five, she was just asserting herself after my absence for ten days.

I think he really enjoyed saying that.

Right. Ok then.

Plan B: Make them feel like it’s Christmas already so that they NEED a tree at home (why am I behaving like a child and they so adult? It’s just wrong.)

I casually mention to the children that Santa is going to be downtown on Saturday afternoon. Would they like to visit him? They can tell him what they’d like for Christmas and we can also see some carol singers and have a hot chocolate.
Two is on board immediately. Not because of Santa, you understand. I played dirty chucking in the ‘C’ word because that boy will do anything if there is sugar involved. He’ll even agree to injections quite happily which, come to think of it, does not bode well for the future but that is a story for another day.
Husband suggests we go for a hike prior to seeing Santa which would not particularly be relevant except it means that we turn up for our ‘Santa’s family photo opportunity’ covered in burrs and the kids are wearing the most extraordinary mismatched, filthy, ill-fitting clothes which are their ‘outdoors-with-dad favourites’ (could also be termed ‘the ones mum never lets us wear’) and are in stark contrast to all the other beautifully coiffed and coutured children who have turned out for their Yuletide pictures with the F. Xmas himself.

As it turned out, though, it didn’t actually matter.

We watched all the beautiful families joyfully bound over to Saint Nick, posing happily with him as they had their photos taken beside the big Christmas tree, beaming with their gleaming teeth.

My children looked on suspiciously and shot me dirty looks when I tried to make insincere grownup cheerful sounds about the old man in the red suit.

Santa, being a kindly sort, spotted us lurking and walked, smiling, towards Two in my arms who promptly hid his face.

Hello there, young fella!

more hiding

How’s about you give Santa a high five and tell me what you want for Christmas?

Silence

And you, young lady, why don’t you come over and have your picture taken with Santa? Come with your mom and dad?

Violent shaking of head, protective step behind father’s leg.

Well come on now, Santa won’t eat you! I just want to know what you’d like for Christmas so I can bring it for you and take a picture for my wall!

At this point Five looked completely horrified. The thought of him eating her hadn’t crossed her mind yet but now he mentioned it he was rather fat – this must be the reason.
Two stepped in and cleared up any misunderstandings that might have occurred between the two parties:

DON’T LIKE SANTA!  SANTA GO AWAY NOW!

Santa looked quite hurt. Five looked relieved, Two looked very fierce and Husband was trying to suppress tears of laughter which was just as well as he would have set me off uncontrollably.

The next morning I got up before everyone else and had some time to myself to think. It wasn’t really so important to get the tree immediately after all. I wasn’t going to slide into a slough of despond. There was plenty of Christmas action going on of a completely unexpected and unconventional kind.
My children don’t like Santa. Our town has a festive monster truck parade. My five year old is in charge of the order of festivities. It’s all good and only getting better.
Then Husband woke up and came into the kitchen. He suggested we get the tree that afternoon. I was amazed. Why had he changed his mind? He didn’t really have a reason, he just thought today would be a good day.

I’m not above slipping Santa a note, you know.