o christmas tree

Scott and I gave ourselves a Christmas tree ultimatum.
Either we were getting a tree this past weekend or none at all.
We leave for DC in a couple weeks and the
"get maximum enjoyment out of a dying tree in your living room"
window is rapidly closing in.
And I say dying.... because I mean dying.
Other people know how to keep their Christmas trees alive.
We are tree killers - plain and simple.
Last year we jumped the gun and got our tree right after Thanksgiving.
A week into December it was drier than the desert.
We begged people (children) not to brush up against it
lest all the needles fall off in a brownish green heap.
The year before, so many needles fell off,
each morning Scott and I had to do Christmas tree clean-up
and sweep up all the the needles before the boys entered the room.
Somehow in the dying process, the fir branches developed the ability
to pierce the tender skin of ones soles with their air dried sharpness.
This is why they are referred to as pine NEEDLES
and not pine MARSHMALLOWS.
But the thing is that I LOVE Christmas trees.
The real ones. The ones that smell "piney".
And I love them strung with white lights
and loaded down with a mish mash of ornaments.
My favorites are the vintage ornaments from the 50's and 60's.
Small glass globes painted in pastels,
the colors faded from years of tree trimming.
Addison also favors these. He is trying to see
if he can break all of these by Tuesday.
He plucks them from the tree, throws them like a ball and says "broke".
Pray for his sweet little soul as his mommy grows so very angry.
Then there are the kid's paper ornaments they made in preschool,
that I'm sure the children will grow to loathe but which I adore,
along with the myriad of ornaments we have been gotten over the years.
The clear glass globe we got on our honeymoon
filled with sand and seashells.
The silver picture frame ornaments filled with pictures of our nieces
and nephews from over 5 years ago - I have yet to update them.
The fat white papier mache stars with tinsel around the edges
that spoke to my sparkly soul from the hallowed halls of Target this year.
And that green smell, the smell of winter and presents, that fills the room.
A fake tree just won't do. I know it would be more humane.
One less tree groveling for water in the parched land of our home.
But we simply must have a real one, plucked from the earth,
to really celebrate the advent season.
We went with a noble fir this year.
We are hoping it is a hearty breed...lest the Aughtmons kill again.