Except when it comes to Christmas trees.

Yeah I said it. WHAT?

I grew up with real Christmas trees. My parents and sister still insist on getting one.

“Nothing like the smell of a real Christmas tree!” they say.

The tree debate is a sort of unspoken battle. Having been on both sides of it, I can say that the “real” people think they’re better than the “fake” people.

Real people feel like they deserve it because they worked HARD for that tree. Some even drive an hour and a half and then trek into the woods to cut it down themselves. Ffffffff thatttttttttt. Even my parents weren’t crazy enough to do that.

When I was a kid, we either went to a local lot or Home Depot. I remember it was always freezing cold outside and I wanted my parents to hurry the hell up and pick one so I could get home and eat the Burger King they promised and watch The Facts of Life.

After approximately 6.5 hours of Lol deciding which tree was “the fullest”, it was wrapped in netting, then hoisted on top of the car by a guy who always had a cigarette dangling out of his mouth. It was never the same place or the same guy, but there was always a cigarette dangling. Not exactly what they had in mind when the marketing geniuses came up with Smokey the Bear.

🚬🐻🌲🔥

After cheering Jo on as she threatened Blair with a knuckle sandwich, I polished off my Whopper and was ready to go.

Let’s get this baby in the stand and decorate it!

Nope. Sorry. We have to unwrap it and prop it up in the backyard so the branches can come down.

Cool, cool. This process is way cool 😐

Thank Grod I was too dumb to realize that there were probably allll kinds of bugs in that tree. I wouldn’t have been able to sleep at night nor would I have been able to relax on the couch next to it imagining a spider family being hatched as I watched The Wheel.

Finally, the next night, Pa dragged the monstrosity through the back door. Without saying it out loud, Teara and I knew what was coming next.

Lol would guide Pa as he screwed the stump into the tree stand. He would inevitably want to hit her over the head with the tree by the 23rd time she said, “It’s not straight”.

Someone mentioned somewhere along the line that if you put an aspirin in the water it extended the life of the tree.

Lol: “One of you go upstairs and get the aspirin.”

“I’m not doing it.”

“Well I’m not.”

“Someone get the damn aspirin!”

“Fine!” as one of us stomped 13 times as hard as we could up the stairs, opened the drawer with the aspirin in it, slammed it as hard as we could, then stomped 13 times back down the stairs to hand the bottle over to our mother who wanted to strangle us both in that moment.

Good times.

Now the tree is up and straight as an arrow after approximately 27 times of Pa re-screwing it into the stand.

He is now dripping with sweat and his hands are cut up and covered in sap. I think the spider family took up residence in his hair.

We decorate the tree with Bing Crosby crooning Christmas carols in the background. I really do love this part; Lol does too. Teara and Pa – not so much.

Teara reluctantly helps while stopping every now and then to pick her perm. Pa has earned his “get out of decorating tree” card because he just shaved off a year of his life trying to get the tree straight.

One thing that brought us all joy was finding specific ornaments. A red popsicle sled I bought at the school holiday shop for Pa in 3rd grade; the figurines playing “Tara” & “Tiffany” inscribed pianos that my Godfather John & his wife Helen gave us; and various other favorites.

But the ultimate find every year was gifted to us by my Nana – the same woman who sobbed at my parents’ wedding because she wanted my dad to be an Irish-Catholic priest, not marry some Italian girl from Brooklyn. She gave my parents a matching set of Pope John Paul II Christmas ornaments.

After fishing through the box, one of us would proudly hold them over our head and yell, “I found the Pope’s balls!!!”

Yes, my Nana would be appalled and we’re all going to hell 😂🙏🔥

So now it’s up, it’s decorated, and there’s a warm glow cast in our home. Mission accomplished 👍

——————————————

You know how PJ and I got our tree this year? By pulling it out of a box in our closet.

We used to get a real tree, but 13 years ago when the needles clogged up my vacuum and cost me a few hours of my life unclogging it, we got a fake one and never looked back.

After 13 years, our big pre-lit tree finally bit the dust when only 1/4 of the lights came on. You know what we did? We used our smaller pre-lit tree that we normally put in the window instead.

Then we sat back and let the kids decorate it. Why? Because no one gives a shit what your tree looks like except you. And if the kids are happy and you can just sit there and watch them have fun, that’s a win/win for everyone. As long as it casts that warm glow, I don’t give a rat’s ass about ornament placement.

Once when I was young, our tree fell over. It was devastating. All the glass ornaments that Lol loved so much were demolished. It was because the tree was friggin humongous (or at least that’s what Pa said because he didn’t want to face the wrath of Lol for not putting his all into that 27th tree straightening effort.) Every year following, they tethered the tree to the wall. What a giant pain in the ass.

You know what never toppled over? My fake tree.

You know what smells just as good as a real tree? The pure balsam wallflower from Bath & Body Works. Plug that baby in and everyone will be wondering if your perfectly symmetrical, perfectly straight tree is actually real! (Probably not, but who cares?)

As you’ve probably figured out by now, I wouldn’t change my childhood memories for anything, but it’s ok to continue traditions in your own way; especially if they’re easier and afford you the time to snuggle on the couch and watch The Polar Express and drink hot cocoa. It’s so much better than having your dad glare at your mom after she tells him for the 28th time, “It’s not straight.”