It was right after New Years, the year Mr S-P and I started dating. So by the time our first Christmas rolled around, we had had eleven months of getting used to each other before we tried to pick out a tree together. It was an epic argument so bitter, my best friend from college (who had the misfortune of accompanying us that first December) refused ever to shop with us again, and I'm fairly certain she scared off all our other friends, who have long known better than to get between us when we were fighting over what real Christmas trees look like. I always preferred Scotch pines growing up, thick and round, with very little space between the branches. My man insisted that the only trees anyone should ever have were Douglas firs, light and airy so each ornament could dangle unimpeded. There was only one solution. We had to take turns selecting the tree; every other year we changed tree density. Even when the kids were little, they knew it was either mom's year or dad's, and rarely daughters' choice. Last year we skipped, because we were heading to my father's cabin for the holidays, and the year before that Mr S-P was out of the country. I'm pretty sure I didn't actually get a tree that year, other than the tiny tabletop one my friend from the ladies group gave me because I was so pitiful all on my own for the holidays.
This year I decided it was worth my while to retreat and not try to figure out who really had last choice. I offered our first Christmas back in Colorado to the man. I think that way I'll be able to keep it straight in my head--he insisted we move home, his year to pick. I can just count even and odd years from there. You know, for a guy who won first choice, he sure slow-walked the acquisition of said prize tree. I have been going out of my mind for a week wanting to get one, since my tradition favorite day to decorate, the Sunday after Thanksgiving. There was always some other project, some reason to be out in the wrong vehicle (my tiny one versus his big truck), always a reason to postpone. Even today, we lost the entire morning to lethargy, and didn't leave the house until after one o'clock. We spent hours between the two big hardware chain stores and Target, and it was dark by the time we were done with our primary errands. He knew I was flipping out, wanting to get the tree, and he bounced back and forth between "I won't get the tree until we retrieve the tree stand from the condo garage," and "I just need to wander the electrical aisle at Lowes for a (fourth, fifth... ninth, tenth) time," and any number of other delays. Even once we left Lowes headed for the local nursery where we intended to buy the tree, we had to circle back around and retrieve the item we left sitting in the shopping cart (it was made of black iron and we didn't see it in the dark--but then neither did anyone else, so it wasn't stolen before we returned). By the time we got to the nursery, it was closed. There was one other local farm that was selling trees, and to my man's good fortune, it was still open. In fact, it was a hive of activity, with lots of families shopping and workers wandering around. I was tempted to take a picture of the adorable little kids who were running circles through the rows of trees, but I decided that would seem creepy and maybe get me arrested. Trust me, they were cute as can be.
So we have a dad's choice tree, a skinny, airy thing, in a gigantic stand designed to hold a thick-trunked eight footer. It's soaking up water now, and gently lowering its branches. By tomorrow we will know which side is the front and start decorating it. I got new twinkle lights at Target. I hated the face that all the LED lights were always-on for so long, like twinkling had gone out of fashion. It is back now, and I couldn't be happier. We dramatically rearranged the living room so that the tree can sit right in front of the picture window. That's my favorite coffee-drinking, studying, puzzling-playing spot, but I guess I can give it up until January. I'm just happy that there is finally an evergreen tree in my living room, after two (maybe three?) years without. It's starting to feel like Christmas now.
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