I learned a long time ago that if I was getting a live Christmas tree I should not be the one going to get it.
One year we were wise enough to have just the children and spouse go get the tree.
I stayed home getting things ready; decorations, tree decorating snacks, music.
The tree was brought in.
It was the tree from hell from the start. Getting it in the house was unpleasant. We cut it, shaped it, trimmed it. Everything. We tried 1001 times to get it in the tree stand. No matter what we did or how many times we reshaped the trunk it would not stand up or stay in the tree base. I even tried tying it to the curtain rod. A nail may or may not have been whacked into my new home’s wall to try and tie it up.
I was sweating.
I was breaking out in tree allergy poke marks from head to toe.
I was cussing.
In one of my finer moments of life with children…. I decided that damn tree had to go. I think the kids were a little scared but also a little flush with excitement and anticipation when I told them to open the doors.
There were two doors between me and the outside. I told them to get those doors open. And to get out of the way.
I stood with the massive tree in front of me. I wrapped my arms around it and picked it up. I had to keep it vertical. This wasn’t going to be any cartoon where I tried to get the tree out by holding it horizontal. This was a one shot deal.
The kids went out on the deck and I yelled “HERE I COME!”
I started running that massive tree through the house. From the living room, through the dining room, through the kitchen and down the hallway to the back door. Branches scratching and knocking things over as I ran through every room out to the deck and threw that evergreen airborne until it landed on the ground below.
THAT felt good. Very good.
I turned around with a smile on my face. The kids were smiling. I think they were impressed.
Troubles were done.
I love that moment.