Christmas Trees

Christmas trees are one of my most favorite things. In my house, I have two, the large tree that we put in the front window and a smaller twig tree that my parents gave me as a housewarming present when we moved to Tennessee. I absolutely love both, but if one had to go, "Goodbye, twig tree!" I need a real tree! 

I am going to go ahead and blame my dad for this one, but I am a tree snob. At some point, I'd say during my teenage years, he started allowing me to choose the tree as we walked the beautiful Christmas tree farm. Even though it hadn't always been the case when I was younger, I began picking the fullest tree I could find. Yes, height was important, but fullness was key for me. I became extremely picky - who am I kidding? Picky was an understatement. When we moved from Pennsylvania and away from Christmas tree farms, the selection became limited and many years were spent lamenting over the size, or lack thereof, of our tree. It was only a few years ago that I was able to put my tree perfectionism on a shelf and simply enjoy whatever tree stood in our study. 

The decorating is easy - white lights and treasured Christmas ornaments given to me by my mom. The handmade stuffed and sequined ornaments that she collected over the years were always my favorite. The ladies of a local church made these beautiful creations every year and sold them at their bazaar.  Some were individual and some were sets - like Pinocchio, Geppetto, and Jiminy Cricket! When my parents stopped decorating a large tree as they got older, those precious ornaments were passed on to me. What a gift! We also add rag garland and a bunch of other ornaments that I've collected over the years.

My favorite, although slightly embarrassing, Christmas tree memory is from the December I was pregnant with my firstborn; my husband and I walked over to the Home Depot to choose a tree. It was a sad selection to say the least, and I settled on one that was at least a little better than most of them. We carried it home across a field and into our neighborhood. You can already tell it wasn't impressive in size if a pregnant woman was able to help carry it home! 

My dear husband, who had grown up with artificial trees, put it in its stand and began reaching for the lights. That was, until his eight months pregnant wife caught sight of it. Let's blame the hormones for me not being able to handle the sight of that imperfect tree. I mean, it had to be the hormones--why else would I go sit in my walk-in-closet so my husband wouldn't see me crying over a tree. It obviously took me a while to get myself back together, because when I finally emerged from the closet and walked into the living room, the tree looked different, and definitely somewhat improved. I mean, I know branches relax once a tree has been brought inside, but it was more than that. 

My husband had carried the tree back to Home Depot, explained that his pregnant wife was quite unhappy, and exchanged it for a different tree. Which he then walked back home. Our "pregnancy tree" certainly didn't turn out to be one of our nicest, but it probably is the tree we remember the most!