Oh weird little Christmas Tree

I love the tradition of the Christmas tree, and all through December I was carefully constructing and curating this particular image: my smiling family gathered around a majestic fir, placing our treasured collection of decorations on symmetrical branches; carols playing in background; a box of chocolates, wrappers glistening, mulled wine and pine needles scenting the air.

 

This long nurtured fantasy was first blown apart by the tree itself. The other half bought it in the darkness at a roadside tree-selling pit-stop on the way home from work. Instead of three foot wide and six feet tall, it stood six feet wide and three feet tall.

 

I laughed hysterically and text my sister for emotional support. We share a history of dodgy looking Christmas trees – our father being a man who won’t buy something if you can chop it down yourself – cue endless years of trying to hide gaps and lop-sidedness with tinsel and tied-on branches.

 

She responded with sympathy and a prescription of wine, but before I could self-medicate, the two-year-old yanked the tree on top of herself. I rescued her and righted the tree. Stepping outside for a second had me recalled by the panicked screams of the eldest. The two-year-old had crawled under the tree and was choking on a pine needle.

 

The other half pruned the tree into an even three foot by three foot and we put it on a box so that we would be able see it. After an hour of unravelling lights, and some extra time for a medical break when the two-year-old almost blinded herself by ripping apart a bauble, we were ready to decorate.

 

I forced the eldest to hang one decoration before she returned to the sofa with a hacking cough, Lemsip and a fever. The youngest smashed a bauble, and I returned all other baubles to the Christmas box, reducing our decorations by half.

 

Ah, the memories.

Daisy Wilson is a freelance writer who lives and works in West Cork. Mum to an almost-teenager and a toddler who is striding through the terrible twos with a glint in her eye, life is noisy, fun and covered in fingerprint marks.

 

Image via Pinterest