Family Tradition (based on many true stories...)

This was going to be the bestest Christmas ever, she thought to herself, smoothing her red and green Rudolph apron down across her lap. December the first marked the beginning of the traditions that had been carefully woven into her family's annual holiday preparations. Today, the children were sure to arise with sunshiney dispositions, knowing that this was Tree and Eggnog day!

She poured herself another coffee, and with a wistful smile playing on the corners of her mouth she descended into the basement to rummage through her carefully stored baubles and tinsel. Ahhhhh! There it was- Kenny Rogers' 1981 Christmas collection. She could practically taste the Kentucky Homemade Christmas wafting through the loving family's house as the children busied themselves with Santa colouring books and wax crayons and the boys set up the electric train set on the floor near the thawing scotch pine. Maybe she'd make waffles! A new tradition that the children were sure to speak of for many generations to come.

Her reverie was jarringly interrupted by the offending sounds of the boys fighting over the nintendo game cube. Seems one wanted to play Tony Hawk and the other preferred something a little more irreverent, hopefully with some violence or inappropriate language. She sighed, and wiped her sweaty palms across Rudolph's midriff, reaching into the fridge for eggs, milk, and eggnog. Once the waffles were made, everything was going to be just perfect. They'd have time for board games, twister, and maybe some neighborhood carrolling!

But first the festive waffle bonanza; maybe some green food colouring in the white sauce. She best call the girls, so last night's rather long trail of dishes could get washed and put away. It was hard to feel festive amongst last night's dehydrating goat cheese remnants and coagulating spinach dip saturating the pumpernickel bread on the arbourite counter. She'd forgotten that firstborn had gone to her best friend's for a sleepover last night. Better give her a call and remind her what a special day December the First was!

Daughter number one was just starting a boy-meets-girl movie and mumbled some less than impressed sentiment about eggnog and tree decorating. Well, she conceded, the waffles would take a while anyway. The milk had soured and a run to the store was in order, so she may as well be accomodating about the movie. Besides, she needed to stop at the tree lot to peruse the rows of trees and enjoy the indulgence of choosing the Perfect Christmas Tree.

Coffee in hand, she rushed out the door, and waltzed down the street, carols of fa-la-la resounding in her imagination. Within minutes, she had the tree in hand. It would fit perfectly between the couch and the chair, its conservative branches holding modestly to its two inch trunk. It was ideal for showcasing the vintage bulbs she had been collecting for years on end. Singing "Deck the Halls" a little louder now, she hurried home, dragging the nearly weightless tree behind her. She hoped to drown out the nagging memory of last Christmas when the children had accused her of bringing home the ugliest tree ever. Couldn't they understand the charm of a natural tree, and get over the ridiculous idealism of a fifty dollar, perfectly dome-shaped, hormone injected tree spectacle?

She snuck it in and quickly planted it into the tree stand. With several meters of tissue paper, and the lid of a pizza box wrapped around the tree's base, the fasteners held the anemic trunk perfectly in place. Now for the lights. Quickly, before the kids notice. Only two strings were working, and half of the singing one. Oh well! Another reason for a modest tree- it shouldn't take many lights to get to the top of this specimen. And the ornaments were sure to get their due respect without the bothersome prickle of garish branches and needles competing for space.

The tinny sounds of "God Rest You, Merry Gentlemen" on the half-blinking string of lights awoke daughter number two. She limped down the stairs, groaning audibly at the spectacle that graced their front window. Sleep-deprived firstborn simultaneously appeared on the back doorstep. She made no pretense of joy at the anticipated burden of hanging out with her three junior siblings and holiday crazed parents, decorating a tree with three or four branches.

Everyone was hungry by now, and there was just no time for those homemade waffles if the house were to be festively adorned by nightfall. Eggos would just have to do, she sighed, throwing her holiday apron on the back of the couch. The kids in the background began an ungrateful chorus about her choice of tree, how gangly the branches, how sparce its boughs.

Guilt smote her then. Who was she to think that she was less than Mother- sacrificer of all opinions, desires, practicalities? Who was she to rob these precious children of their one chance at a merry, merry, joy-infused yuletide? Perhaps she had better reconsider. Back to the tree lot she ventured, tired by now, slumped across her steering wheel, staring woodenly out the small frost-free zone of her windshield. Somehow the romance of walking in a winter wonderland now seemed like a crazy poem she once heard in a seminar somewhere, years before when parenting was a concept and not a gritty reality.

She'd settle on a different tree this time- one that would inspire the family to join her in her songs and tinsel. She breathed deeply, resolute. But her feet had minds of their own and she soon found herself gazing longingly at the gangly, lonely orphans in the north corner of the lot. AHA!! Leaning near the back, right up against the fence, was the perfect, perfect compromise. Yes, it was a spruce, and not a pine (which her tasteless offspring had shamelessly begged for). But it was a big spruce!

There was no time for delivery.

She pause, and thought her plan through briefly. Very briefly. There wasn't much time left to make the bestest christmas tradition ever.

She waited until all the carrolling townspeople looked pretty busy and distracted by their steaming mugs of apple cider, and then she dragged that big beauty up alongside of the van. The rear hatch was frozen shut, but she was not to be deterred. It would be a MERRY CHRISTMAS, and it was gonna start tonight, even if it very nearly killed her. The rear of the gas station opened into the back lane, which was very under-used, and quite possibly the only alley in the whole town that did not require mowing in the summer. Just there at the end of the half block of back lane, she could see the house, and could very nearly make out the sounds of her children singing "Merrily, Merrily Carrolling". Hope restored, she hopped into the drivers seat, the trunk of that big tree resting on her thigh. Sighing contented sighs and humming along to her imaginary Kenny Rogers Christmas, she eased into the lane and headed towards home. She found herself involuntarily breaking into rather high-pitched peals of holiday inspired laughter now, and simultaneously passed two men in half ton trucks who looked themselves to be very full of the Christmas spirit themselves, grinning ear to ear as they were. She couldn't pause to speculate whether it had much to do with ten feet of spruce dragging along the snowy street beside her weaving van. She smiled and waved, acting very nonchalant, careful not to let the tree slip off her thigh, or have the pine needles embed themselves into her soft tissue. Relieved to be home again, with her prize tree intact, she hurriedly pulled the tall green specimen straight into the house, anticipating the sure, appreciative pleasure of her offspring.

She had underestimated the heights of her ceilings. The eleven feet of splendor would surely not fit vertically in an eight foot room.

After sawing off the bottom three feet, the concession tree, stained with the blood and sweat of mother guilt looked exactly like the original gangly spruce.

It looked like December the First was to become an unforgettable Christmas tradition after all.