Going Fake

The day after Thanksgiving is kind of a big deal in our house. Yes, my wife drags me out of bed to enjoy black Friday shopping with everyone else in town and all the neighboring towns and burbs. Black Friday has got to be the highest population day for us. The streets are full, the stores are full, the parking lots are full, and all the shopping carts are used up. We need to put up road blocks and charge admission one day a year. No more taxes for us!

But better than shopping, it’s really a big deal for the kids. It’s the day we put up the tree and start listening to Christmas music.

I love Christmas music, around Christmas time, not before. When the stores start playing it early I just get sick of it by the time the holiday rolls around. So in our cars and in our home its bah-humbug on the festive tunes until after Thanksgiving. Even when the six year old boy starts singing Jingle Bells in July, (hey, it happens more than you would think) the older kids pipe in with the rule and our Christmas season is musically preserved.

As for the tree? A month before Thanksgiving the younger ones are already asking if we can put up the tree. And when I say asking I mean every five minutes. They ask and I repeat the plan: after Thanksgiving. But that’s not the end of it. They ask where it’s going to go, if it’s in the garage, if I’m going to dip it in chocolate and hang it upside down this year, and on and on and on. Together they’re like little project managers working their way down a list to make sure everything is in order and on schedule. I wonder who they get that from, (role eyes toward wife here) Yea, I wonder…

We have a fake tree so it’s not like it’s a hard thing to do. I know, fake trees are an abomination. No pine smell, no big family outing to find the perfect tree, no pictures of rosy cheeked kids in the snow. I’ve learned my lesson on that idea, over and over again.

The first clue was fifteen years ago right after Thanksgiving. My wife, Tracy, and I were going up to get our first Christmas tree together long before we had kids. Back when we still had hopes and dreams.

I had a 1964 Ford truck that didn’t have a working heater, defroster, or windshield wipers. It was raining that day as we headed out of the valley and up the mountain to cut down a tree from the forest with our $10.00 permit.

We each had a shop rag and we would constantly wipe down the windshield on the inside so we could see. This was fine until we got up high enough for the rain to turn to snow. Then I had to stop and wipe the snow off the outside of the windshield every five minutes. Eventually I was driving with my head out the window like a dog with my tongue flapping in the breeze.

Did I mention I had on a thin sweat shirt and jeans and she was freezing in her leggings, no socks, slip on shoes and no jacket? We drove up until the road ended and found other tree hunters enjoying the snow in full winter ski gear drinking hot cocoa and riding quad runners and snow mobiles. Envy much?

Our permit said we had to go 100 yards or 100 feet or 100 miles from the highway to cut our tree. 100 something, I can’t remember. This was fine anyway because all the other Christmas trees close to the road had already been cut. We were just too late to break the law. Story of my life.

We started our hike into the winter wonderland with snow up to our unprepared knees. Ten yards in we were up to our necks. Tracy got her foot stuck on some stick underground, thought she might lose her shoe, and actually said, “Just leave me here.”

At that point I wasn’t really sure if she meant for me to just go get a tree without her and meet her back at the truck, or just leave her there to freeze to death and go on with my life. I’m still not sure to this day and I don’t know if she knows either.

Another year, another truck. She asked, “Should we get gas before we leave town?” and I said, like an idiot, “Oh noooo, we’re fine, plenty of gas.” Thirty minutes later we were walking to Placerville in the cold.

We called it quits on the forest one year and went to a small cut-your-own Christmas tree farm. It was tons of fun. The kids got to see Santa, we overpaid for delicious hot chocolate, and found a great tree.

At the end of the season it was time to take the tree down and clean up Christmas. I grabbed the trunk and my hand was instantly covered with tiny black beetles. Some type of bug had hatched in the warmth of our home. The poor little critters probably thought it was spring. I had the heebie-jeebies till Easter.

I romanticize everything. I think the kids are going to have a blast on these fun family outings. But they just aren’t too wild about driving for an hour to the woods, tromping around looking for a tree, going potty in the wild, and freezing their cheeks off (both sets). I’m slowly learning how to control my problem. I’m in a program and the kids are helping, boy are they helping.

One year after another failed forest trip we decided to go fake. Too many disasters with old trucks, crying kids, and tons of gas money. It was time for a new tradition. We bought a beautiful eight foot pre-lit tree at Costco.

I would guess that about 90% of our Christmas décor gets unpacked every year from boxes with Costco’s Kirkland brand on the side. Our Christmas tree, nativity set, Whimsical Santa, Whimsical Reindeer, and Whimsical Tree (notice a theme here?), and even the ornaments come in Kirkland labeled boxes. Our whimsical kids are growing up thinking that Kirkland means Christmas. Yesterday the boys were actually singing, “We Wish You a Merry Kirkland.”

I do miss that pine tree smell that fills the whole house with Christmas memories. But now, instead of borrowing an old pickup and leaving a warm home to head up to the mountains and brave the elements on an all day trek, I just pull out the biggest box in the garage, open it, assemble four pieces, stick it in the corner, right side up, chocolate free, and ta-da! Instant Christmas. I love tradition.