Perfect In It’s Own Way

There was a time when I pictured myself as a Mother around the Christmas season.  Our tree would fill our great room, straight, tall, expensive coordinating ornaments would delicately be hung with equal space all around the tree.  White lights would be sprinkled around as the child (as previously stated I wanted only one child!) would be well groomed and attentive.  Reality has changed and molded everything I used to view as what I had wanted.  Perfection isn’t in the end result but in how we get there. 

This weekend we went and lumber-jacked down our tree.  Christmas music blared from the radio and we all sang along during the drive to the Christmas Tree Farm.  No, we didn’t all sing along, a few of the Little's were whining/complaining about something behind us.  Tom and I held hands and shared glances as we tried to ignore the normality of whining. 

Upon arrival we donned coats, hats, and gloves while waiting for the tractor ride out to the rows of beckoning trees.  The tractor was a thrill for the children as it bumped along the muddy trail.  This would be in my former view of what perfection was a horse drawn sleigh, snow falling gently onto our blanketed beings as we all sipped hot cocoa and giggled with glee.  We laughed and smiled on hay bales, they worked just fine for us.

Within the rows and rows of trees little ones ran around chasing each other.  Max found a stick and whacked at each and every tree around. The boy resonates “boy” and yields the stick like a pro. "Hi-ya” was heard through the trees.  Tom and I glanced at each other, admiring our oldest little man.

Zane desperately wanted to be like his older siblings and walked around even with his dreaded boots on his feet.  He longs to be as quick and mobile as his beloved brother.  Give it time, Little One. 

I chased children and played hide and seek within the bushy trees.  Their giggles gave them away as I pretended to not know where they were.  Soon, Zane was getting restless and we settled on a tree.  The perfectly symmetrical tree with no bare spots eluded us, but we found one that left a twinkle in the children’s eye. 

The tree was chopped and we hauled it to the trail to wait on the tractor.  I gripped one end and Tom the other.  The troops followed.  A blood curdling scream was heard behind us.  I whipped around and there was Violette, legs spread, screaming that she was stuck.  This was a true scream, one that I immediately assumed she was in pain, stuck in an awkward position.  The tree was put down and I jogged back to her spot, worried.  As I got closer nothing seemed to be holding her down and I asked her what was wrong.  A little weed was draped across her boot.  I laughed and picked up my girly girl!  What a little Diva!

At home my vision of matching outfits and children delicately attaching ornaments gave way to boys who climbed and stole ornaments as girls yelled at them.

The girls did get into decorating.  Noelle unwrapped each ornament, would stare at the tree, searching for the perfect spot.  Oh, she was really into it.  Violette placed them all in one little spot, rearranging the ornaments over and over.  She went for the sparkly ones, of course. 

In the end the tree looks like Our Tree.  It’s ornaments are not equally spaced, it leans a bit due to a crooked stem, but it’s perfect in just the right way.