I made the decision to go Christmas tree shopping this past weekend. I love Christmas, but I am willing to respect Thanksgiving as a holiday – mostly to eat dressing and macaroni and cheese. Getting a Christmas tree just two days after Thanksgiving would easily be the earliest I have ever had a Christmas tree. My mother’s birthday is mid-December and we never liked to override her birthday with Christmas, so when we were young, we would always wait until after her birthday to get a tree. Slowly, I had wiggled my way back to this day. It was going to be a perfect day! Beautiful Virginia mountains, 55 degrees F, sunny. We couldn’t wait!
Saturday morning came! I had to work at the clinic that morning, but I was just going to grit my teeth and bare it. Working Saturdays at a vet clinic is, at best, a crap shoot. Some people can only make appointments for Saturdays due to work schedules, some wait until the fear that they will have to watch their pet suffer a 42nd day in misery if they have to wait until Monday. At this clinic, I am the only doctor working and end up being scheduled to see a patient every 15 minutes – some easy vaccine boosters, some very sick, requiring extra time and care.
This particular morning, I was swamped. Sick animals everywhere, a very sad euthanasia, and a couple of headache inducing clients. At the end of the morning, ten minutes to the finish line, when the final client called and demanded her dog be seen for a broken toe nail despite our assuring her this is an issue that could be addressed at home – I mean, would you go to urgent care for a toe nail you cut too short? So, yes, we charged an emergency fee – hoping it would keep her away, but instead she spent 10 minutes griping about the price and brought the dog anyway, complaining that it wouldn’t take very long and it shouldn’t cost that much. Looking around, everyone in the clinic was super busy giving fluids to a sick cat, taking x-rays of a limping dog, cleaning, talking to clients in the cars (because curbside), and answering phones. I still had to write up all the records for the glob of cases I saw, make sure everyone was called back who had pressing questions or were waiting on lab work, make sure prescriptions were faxed out to the appropriate pharmacies. So, that, ma’am is why the extra charge.
Now, in my delightfully good mood, I will go Christmas tree shopping!
I finally arrive home, in such festive spirits that, after scarfing Thanksgiving leftovers, I sink down on the couch and contemplate whether today is, in fact, a good day to get a Christmas tree. Tony feeds into my foul mood by suggesting we wait until tomorrow. I consider the full out triple sized tantrum that would ensue if the kids found out we were not going that day and finally decide to get on with it.
We load everyone into the most neglected vehicle we own – “the truck” – the heat doesn’t work, it’s been rained in, the interior is likely rotted, the check engine light is ALWAYS on, but it does the work no other vehicle can do, so we haven’t scrapped it yet. On the way to the farm, we tune into a Christmas music station and the kids all join together in singing that classic yule-time favorite “A-B-C-D…” followed by Calvin screaming “NO! OSCAR!! It’s my turn!!! ABCDE…” then, all the kids joining in a harmonious fight to scream their ABCs the loudest while yelling and hitting their siblings that’s it’s their turn.
Finally, we get “the truck” to the highway where the shuddering of the vehicle in unison with the reverberations of the busted speakers finally silenced the kids into a fearful submission as I try to ignore the angry drivers passing feverishly since I would not go above 60 in a 70mph zone. We, then, get to peacefully listen to actual Christmas music and Oscar shushes everyone when “Frosty the Snowman” comes on and then we make it to the tree farm.
Pulling into the farm, we see it is PACKED! Everyone was walking around, dressed in their holiday best; sweaters, vests, and boots, when my kids jump out of the truck in short sleeves with India taking it a step farther with a flimsy cotton pink skort – Michigan raised kids, amirite? The kids all rushed to grab the deer carcass sleds they let you use to carry your slain tree, they argue incessantly over who gets to pull the thing, then Calvin decides he’ll just sit in the sled, which greatly upsets the other two as you cannot as easily sprint carelessly, demolishing all the baby trees when you have to actually try.
India sings to every tree that it is “the one” and we finally decide on one after, much unlike his choosing a life partner, Tony decides he needs to see every single tree before we settle down. We find a cute one to settle on – it’s not the tallest one we’ve ever gotten, but it’s full, green, and cute. Tony starts with the cutting down after we all have professed that this is “the one”. He gets a few saw strokes into it when I decide to help him out by pressing the tree away from the saw to open up the “incision”. At this very moment, I realize that this is the first any of us have actually touched the tree above the trunk. At this moment, it dawns on me that we have not chosen a tree, but a cactus. I CAN. NOT. TOUCH. IT. Tony asks if he should stop cutting, but we had already damaged the tree, it just was ours now. I picked up the sled to push it and we get it cut down. Tony, wearing work gloves, gets stabbed several times through the gloves to get it loaded on the sled and we consider donating this tree and getting another. “No,” I said, “it just fits with 2020 at this point.”
We get it trimmed and loaded and drive home, welts slowly growing all over Tony’s hands and arms, he is dousing his hands in hand sanitizer to help relieve the itch. India’s allergies and asthma is being triggered, likely by the mold in the interior of “the truck”. And so, we arrive home with the precious cactus, contemplating whether or not to just drag it up and down the gravel driveway until it softens.
Decorating of the tree goes much more smoothly than it could have with a destructive 3 yr. old, only 2-3 ornaments were broken, but that’s why I had my trusty hot glue gun plugged in and ready to go. Oscar ran around the ENTIRE time, hopping on one leg, around the tree, jumping over the strand of lights plugged into the wall, all to simulate being his tyrannosaurus ornament who had lost a leg. We finished adorning the tree with all the favorites, including homemade Pokémon cut-outs, a George Harrison action figure, and a Halloween dragon skeleton. Soon Calvin also joined Oscar in skipping, and then India, and we finished the day with skipping races across the living room.
Here’s to your Christmas/Holiday season!
