Saturday, December 13, 2008
O Christmas Tree! (and the husband with issues)
There are so many things you don't find out about your man until after you're married. Tiny, irritating habits, wonderful, deep running character traits, things both good and bad. And some revelations don't quite fit into either the good or the bad categories. This is one of them.
My husband has Christmas tree issues. The problem surfaced during our first Christmas, 11 months after we were married, on a bitterly cold afternoon in Connecticut. We went to a tree farm to find a tree. I was dressed for going to a tree farm to find a tree. My husband, as it turned out, was dressed for a Quest, as in The Quest To Find The Perfect Christmas Tree. Oh sure, it was romantic and fun- for the first 3 hours anyway. Then as the cold from the frozen tundra beneath my feet crept into my brain, I began to get a little sarcastic. "How about this tree, HONEY?" I would say, jabbing at a two foot Charlie Brown Christmas tree look alike. He was undaunted. 47 hours later we tied The Perfect Tree on top of our Just Out of College Married Poor People car, and headed home. In the years that followed, I tried all types of intervention to help my husband, all for not. The Quest resurfaced every year. I gave up, and began producing children who could take my place accompanying my husband, while I stayed home and made cookies. "You go on ahead," I'd say in my martyr voice. "I'll stay home so you can have hot cookies when you return."
Our marriage was saved.
We moved 5 years ago to a house I fell in love with because of its big and beautiful kitchen/sun room combo, with a 14 foot ceiling, and in doing so, unknowingly added another dimension to the Quest: not only is it to be perfect, but it must be as tall and as wide as the White House Christmas Tree.
Perhaps I'll convert to Judaism...