'Tis the Seasons...

The other morning, through a smear of yogurt, my kid, with his hair still fuzzy and wild from a good night’s sleep, was asking about balloons. More specifically, his You're the Best! balloon from months ago that I tossed in the trash because it lay in a heap under the table like a wet plastic grocery bag.

“Well, your birthday’s coming up, I’m sure you’ll get a balloon then, right?”

“And presents?”

“Yeah, you’ll probably score some gifts too."

His gaze wandered to where our tree had stood, now a barren corner and a stark reminder that Christmas is over.

"We can put them under the tree?"

“Well, uh, you see…”

And there’s the dilemma. Where I’m happy the kid enjoyed Christmas, he’s having a tough time letting it go. My wife said they pulled into the driveway the other evening and he said the house looked sad because we "put Christmas away.”

An unpardonable offense in his eyes. He wants to watch The Grinch. He wants presents under the tree. He wants to sing Jingle Bells, or, some form of it anyway… Omaha, it is to ride, in a one horse open….Hey!

We just might have a Christmas theme for his January birthday.

Now, I’m not some jerk who doesn't want his son to enjoy himself. I'm okay with a slight extension to the holiday season. We traveled this year for Christmas, so he wasn’t at home to enjoy the tree and the lights. So fine, we left everything up stayed merry and stretched things out a bit. While other people were pitching trees to the curb, ours glowed in full glory. 

I’m no longer one of those rip-it-all-down and be done with it on the 26^th type of guys. I don’t let the shopping season or commercials dictate what holiday to celebrate. Truth be told we could all use a little Christmas cheer all year around.

But…

After a while, wouldn't it get...weird, not too mention brown....if we had the tree up all year? And again, I've made some concessions already. I’ve left some lights up, white ones, on the fence post out front, and there's a snowman...

But these two, both of them, wife and kid. They want full tilt Yule tide. 

So I'm branded the Grinch.

Fine. But to me, part of what makes Christmas special is the wait. If it was here all year then it would not only get weird, and brown. It would lose some of it’s luster. But try explaining this at my house, while you're reading Little Blue Truck's Christmas and everyone's wondering why the little tree on the last page won't light up. *Hint, it's the batteries, because it's JANUARY...

I’m sure hope this will all pass. I’m guessing with his birthday and all he’ll get back into the groove of things and Jingle Bells will give way to the Easter Bunny. Or maybe by Halloween we’ll have him ready to go trick or treating, singing spooky songs and getting into the spirit of things. 

Maybe he can go as Santa Clause. 

The Last Childless Christmas

Over the weekend, my wife and I headed out in search of a Christmas tree.  In recent years we settled on the convenience of The Home Depot, grabbing a tree on the way out of the store and hoping it would make it until Christmas day.

But this year, both of us were feeling a bit more in the spirit of things. So with temps nearing the 60 degree mark, we headed to Dave's Maine Christmas trees and wreaths, a roadside lot with a large selection of fresh Frazer Fir trees

Under the string of light bulbs we began our search for the perfect Christmas tree.  And I got all sentimental, (when did this happen?), realizing that this would be the last Christmas with just the two of us at home.   As a matter of fact, this year has been full of lasts.  The last childless birthday, the last childless father’s day, the last childless anniversary, the last childless everything.  

But something happened that I'm sure will not be a last.  I managed to lodge my foot squarely in my mouth.  Searching for that perfect tree, my wife rejected my choices, calling them scrawny or scrimpy, shaking her head with every candidate I presented.

She pointed to her choice, a full tree that was $10 more than the ones I had selected.  And then it happened, I called the tree fat and out of shape.  But I didn’t stop there. In a complete lapse of judgment and an absence of sanity, I continued, calling the tree pregnant.

She shot me a disparaging look, her eyebrow raised as she put together my sentences.

“Is that what you think of me, fat and out of shape?”

Oh boy.

“No honey, I didn’t mean it like that….it must have been my angle, or the lighting….I actually think this tree is beautiful, it’s radiant…..a fine looking tree….it glows really, if you ask me....I’m going to go run out into traffic….”

After letting me suffer for a moment, she laughed it off, as she is an excellent sport.  But still, I have to be more careful.  (And for the record I don’t think my wife is fat and would never, ever say so if I did.) 

Eventually we picked the perfect tree.  We loaded it up into the truck and brought it to our home to decorate, playing Christmas songs and kicking off our last childless Christmas together.  

Afterwards, we sat back and enjoyed our beautiful tree, the colorful lights sparkling as they reflected off of our childhood ornaments. And I must say, the tree is a stunning, a glowing tree that lights up our house and warms my heart, just like my pregnant--but not by any means fat--wife.