like a truck.
My To-Do list owns me, even though Scuba spent all day long doing things for me: taking the boys to get inner tubes for their flat bicycle tires so I don’t have to drive to the high school so often; fixing the watch Alex got for his birthday in October (it arrived broken); shopping for all the ingredients for Nate’s birthday dinner tonight; washing my car; taking the boys shopping for jeans and socks and boxers.
I spent the day wrapping presents, coughing, doing laundry.
Nate is thirteen now. He really wanted a TempurPedic pillow for his birthday, so that’s what we got him and dude was he ever happy to see that box under the wrapping paper.
Our tree has been up for almost two weeks. We like to cut down our own tree every year, but last year didn’t work
out so we liked the idea of it even more than usual this year. The day we went to get it, Scuba was still sick (pneumonia) and so I drove us up into the mountains and he rode shotgun. There are a number of things that I do well, and many more that I’m competent at, and even more than that that I’m passable at. Driving isn’t on any of those lists. I know where a few tree farms are, but since we saw people coming down a road closer than the places I know of, we decided to get off the highway sooner and go to a place closer to home.
We drove up the mountain. And drove. And then I accidentally hit the curb, whoops. And still, we drove. Every so often we’d see a sign: TREE FARM ^ And we did keep passing cars coming down the mountain with trees, so we kept on. Finally we got to a point in the road where things had narrowed down to one lane. Out the passenger window we had dirt mountainside stretching straight up. Out the driver’s window there was just the air blowing above the tall trees far, far below us.
So we are driving up this and I’m nervous as hell and the kids are chattering and every time I successfully allow a car coming down the hill to pass me I’m feeling a little bit better. Then we come to a bend in the road that is clogged up by at least four cars. Slowly from around the bend comes, well, this:
The giant truck towing the tractor passed by the other cars one by one until he got to us. I scootched the van right up to the side of the mountain, folded in my side view mirror, and hoped for the best. The truck driver and I both had our windows down, and as he passed us with about an inch to spare, he looked down at me and said, I sure hope I don’t fall of the edge here!
We did finally find the tree farm. I parked and looked at Scuba and handed over the keys.
It was a perfect day and there wasn’t a fistfight over the saw (almost, but not), and we got a great tree.
At one point I told all the kids to turn around for a photo and they all independently decided to give me some of this:
That night we got the tree set up in the living room and I put the lights on. We did up the strings of popcorn and cranberries and had apple cider and listened to the Pandora station that you get when you put in Nat King Cole Christmas.
During Jingle Bell Rock Bing Crosby sang, Giddy-up jingle horse, pick up your feet, and Sophie turned to me, shocked, and said, MOM! WHY is he singing about whores in a Christmas song?
Horses, Sophie. HORSES.