You know if my memory serves me correctly, we went and found a perfect Christmas tree in the woods when I was a child a couple of times and it seemed so easy and fun. Wonderful ride to the woods and then Kelly and I arguing in the back seat who would find the tree. Found the tree, chop it down and go home. Boy, oh Boy how things change in 25 years.
In order for us to go find the perfect Christmas tree, we have to arrange child care for Emilee because she is getting to heavy to pack and the last thing she needs is to sit that long, with her scoli. Then it is getting her bag packed and the meds straighten out, then it getting the equipment, now I am sure that dad had to do this, but back then it was no work for me. Then it is re-arranging schedules and not missing any important enlightening Christmas events, or aka church play practice. I am pretty sure practice was originally scheduled for the evening. Then it transfering all the kids coats from my car that was in town for play practice to the pick-up and not forgetting any gloves. Luckily it was 40 degrees so forgotten gloves or coats was not exactly an issue.
Then it is off to the mountains, now when Kelly and I were little any wooded area would have worked, but my children are spoiled, they know the woods at Dent very well and want to go to this place and not that place. I am like, a tree is a tree and while they are beautiful out there in the woods, when you get home, it is not going to fit in the house anyway and it will honestly be ugly. I prefer uniform store boughten ones and as soon as Mariah flutters (yes, with her it will be flutters and she will probably be forty as slow as she does her school work) I will be purchasing store boughten trees.
So we are driving along and somebody screams STOP, for all I know at this point, it may have been me. There is a clump of trees and this is the sixth time we have stopped and like the rest none of these will do either. Josh decides he found the perfect tree but alas, Mariah hates it. Those two are like oil and vinegar. Josh is disgusted so he climbs up this rock bluff and then declares he has found Nana the perfect tree. Now I am skeptical because they are all pretty until you get it cut down and then the imperfections start showing. I am like is it tall enough, does it have bare spots, it is two trees growing to close together but oh no, it is perfect he proclaims. Dale throws the hand saw up and Josh whacks it down and over the rock bluff it comes. Then Josh my brave reckless child decides he is not coming down the way he went up, it looks too dangerous. Meaning I am going to go explore and find another route. SIGH!
He wanders off up the hillside and then the screaming begins. I am like are you okay, and there is just sobs. Then he is still crying but yells I fell and we are like are you okay, and he is like sort-of. We yell do you need help, he responds I guess not, but I am hurt and bleeding. Dale goes up the hill while I am screaming don't hurt your back any more and he then he yells he is bleeding. Dale is the one of the most make a mountain over a molehill people I know, so I lam like okay, he said bleeding not dead, Josh is okay and about five minutes later they emerge and Josh arm is dripping blood. We cleaned it the best we can without water, because Genius Dale forget the cooler when he came to pick us up and then wrap toilet paper around it. The toilet paper goes under the pick-up and Miss Mariah casually reaches under with a stick and gets it out. We lock the toilet paper in place on Josh's arm with Mariah's Hannah Montana hair barrette. Josh is protesting and by this time I just tell him to shut up. I am ready to go home but oh no the search for the perfect trees has to go one. Nana has a tree but we do not. If people spent as much time searching for Jesus as they do the perfect tree, life would make more sense. Up the road we continue. We are continually searching and nothing is looking right, which for Dale means a tree already in a stand, in his living room, and decorated.
About twenty minutes later, we met a yellow jeep and instead of politely getting over Dale is in the middle of the road and driving like he is drunk. It happened so fast, I didn't have time to get a smart remark out. The jeep goes on and Dale is like my pick-up is not steering, there is something wrong with it. He first checks the tires and then declares there is ice under the truck. We get that knocked off and I say I do know where there are nice trees back about five miles. Dale is like oh no let's go this way. See - I scout Christmas trees all summer when we go out there, not hunting spots like two somebody elses I know. We continue on; the truck starts acting really goofy and then it makes a loud noise. The axle is now broken or something. I am just like, why can't I be a kid again and annoy my parents. We limp the truck down the hill and I am continually searching for cell service so I can SOS somebody. I finally get spotty reception and can't get my mom and or dad, my hour of need and they don't answer. Kelly, my dear sister, gets the call. I am like if we are not home in a hour come look for us. We continue on down the road trying to get home, the kids are like this is a great adventure, I am mentally thinking we have no water, no food, no first aid ointment. Next time, I will not trust somebody else to get us ready to go while I am at church play practice. Mariah is in the back seat chanting - we have no tree, we have no tree. I am like stop the truck, go cut that tree. It is on a hill and it doesn't look that big. That was my first mistake of this trip, the tree gets cut down and rolled to the road, it is HUGE and really not pretty! I tell them to take off about three to four more feet off the bottom. Then trim the top, it still sticks out of the truck but by this time I don't care. We start off again, with Josh drifting in and out of pain induced sleep, Mariah singing some made up Christmas song and the pick-up making this horrible racket. We get down into Orofino, I call Kelly, we put everybody in my van, the dogs and everything important because Dale doesn't trust the truck on the highway and we continue on.
We stop at my mom and dad's house and drop off their tree and clean up Josh. He was so tough, I love that child so much. Come home, the house looks a bomb went off in it, but nobody except me cares, we have a tree to decorate. Josh is still hurting but he helps and we get started. It looked beautiful and everybody is content. We all pitch in to straighten the house and Josh goes to bed, Dale takes a nap, Mariah is watching tv, Emilee is swinging and I am doing some more cleaning. The kids go to bed and then Dale gets up and wants cow horns, I make them and then Mariah can't find her precious bear and so she gets all upset. I called Dad and ask if he is laughing because he had to look for my blanket lots of times. I tell him I am making cow horns and he should come up, it is eleven o'clock at night and he says okay. Mom and him come up and stayed about an hour, it was nice and peaceful. They leave and Dale decides to put Emilee's Christmas trike together and I start wrapping the 50 Brookside sweatshirts. I fall into bed at 1:45 hoping my Tynoel PM will kick in. At 5:45 Bullwinkle decides he needs to out and so off we go. I glance in the living room and without my glasses I really can't see anything but there is a funny looking light on the floor. I head toward the Christmas tree and there is it is laying on the floor, water and broken ornament and presents everywhere. It is a good thing that I could account for all animals in this house but I was like oh no. The funny thing it didn't upset me, it can be fixed. Dale on the other hand was furious and said several swear words. I am just sitting there laughing and he shaking his head thinking I am crazy. He fixes it in the tree stands and heads back to bed and I figure it is 6 am, Emilee and Bullwinkle are awake, I might as well clean it up and put the ornaments back on. Oh MERRY CHRISTMAS to me! I am glad I know the true meaning of Christmas or I would be wondering what all this fuss is about.
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