It has become a tradition in our house to name the Christmas Tree we choose to represent our celebration of advent every year. In the past we have used the plastic alternative (much to my displeasure!), until my Hubble could be convinced that trees weren’t like the ones we had as children – the prickly needles wouldn’t fall all over the floor and rug coating our living is shards of nasty dead tree! Once he allowed the first sweet Nordic pine with soft needles and anti-moulting tendencies into our domain, he was hooked!
Choosing the tree is as big a fight as naming it! We are not the fussy type that drive miles to the killing grounds to select their tree straight from the forest to cull it there and then. Just like chickens, we’re happy to buy them from the local supermarket; as long as they’re fresh and look good. Our Homebase, a hardware and gardening store, stocks a lovely selection of pines which is not too big so that we are trapped there spoilt for choice. Sometimes too much choice is not a good thing in a family of six. For example, look what happened when Hubble thought it would be a “fun idea” to let the children come with us to choose one kitten as a companion for our older cat, Tarzan. We ended up coming home with all four kittens thanks to choice and the matching number of kittens to children! No, choice is fine when it is limited.
Right, so we go for a special Nordic blend that doesn’t drop its needles, has a soft, beautiful texture to its leaves to avoid prickliness and looks like it’s straight out of a picture book. We leave the absolute mayhem we have created behind and spend another fifteen minutes in the car park arguing over which we we put the tree into Yoda, our Chrysler, last year. (for those of you that haven’t read about Yoda, I give my car names too!). By this time the store assistants should have had enough time to re-wrap all the trees I requested to see and made them open, only to refuse them for the first tree we noticed. Sorry again!
We’re on our way! A quick stop for a bucket of KFC, because obviously choosing a tree is hard work and keeping the natives in our tribe, yes our children, quiet requires us to feed them frequently. Once home the tree is placed on its special stand and we all step back to admire the oversized mammoth of green in the living room that dwarfs everything else in comparison. I am not a patient person so whilst they gather in the dining room after cleaning themselves up, I start trimming away at the branches until the giant breathes in and becomes a more acceptable size. By this time, names are flying across the two rooms and arguments ensue. Last year was the easiest year to name our tree. We called it Roy after my brother-in-law who passed away. It seemed appropriate since his birthday fell on Christmas Day and we missed him so.
Once the name is chosen, hot chocolate is made and we toast the tree. Trimmings are squirrelled out from the loft and decorating begins. And that, for us, is the beginning of advent.
If you don’t hear from me tomorrow, you know what I will be doing. Will send photos and let you know the name once the dust settles and Michael Bublé is crooning in my ears about Christmas for about the third time…we love his Christmas CD!
Have a lovely Thanksgiving weekend everyone, whatever you’re doing!
Picture courtesy of the treetopper.com