Every December our little family climbs into the SUV to drive to West Virginia in our quest for the perfect Christmas tree. During the drive to the tree farm my imagination floods with tranquil images of chopping down the tree, all while joyfully singing Jingle Bells as a family. By the time we pull into the farm gates an hour later, I'm bubbling with holiday anticipation and excitement.
It isn't until we have begun our trek into the fields that I remember that I do not live within a Norman Rockwell painting. My family, specifically all three of my "boys," view cutting down a tree as a chore instead of a joy. As soon as we are immersed within the confidence of the tree the complaints and bickering begin to fly. My idealistic Christmas visions abruptly dissolve, revealing the reality of our family.
I love Christmas tree shopping, but I am alone. The boys would be content with a colorful (and easy to assembly) artificial tree. After the complains that flowed after schlepping the 12 foot tree out of the field, I am leaning towards conceding. Nothing zaps the holiday spirit more than hearing a barrage of complains and frustration during an activity that is supposed to be enjoyable.
After 16 years, perhaps it is time for a new tradition, one that everybody might enjoy. I love our ginormous tree, but their complaints continue to ring in my ears.
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