O Poor, Poor Tannenbaum

Upon awakening, Heath groggily declared, I'm going to watch TV all day. Sound like a plan?

I take it his week back at preschool was an exhausting one. Lounging in our pajamas all morning long wasn't such a bad way to start a Friday. I broke out our new griddle again and whipped up some buttermilk pancakes and puttered about the house. Laundry. Pancake clean-up. CMS Magnet lottery online application. (Holding my breath for a coveted spot at one of my top two choices.)

One giant looming project sadly sat in the corner of our living room. The Christmas tree. I didn't even bother turning the lights on this morning. The round and round string of glow only magnified the browning branches. It seemed as though the tree was staring at me, whimpering softly, and I couldn't figure out if it was sad because it spotted the green ornament storage box, destined to have all of its Christmas jewelry removed and placed in the attic until next December, or if it was simply begging to be put out of its misery.

But I kept finding another phone call to make, or Heath/Stella question to be answered, or wash to be moved to the dryer, and I tried desperately not to make eye contact with our Frasier Fir. Next thing I knew it was time for lunch. Rather than eat at the kitchen table, within ear shot of the tree, I suggested we get out of our pjs and get some bagels.

Turns out the tree ornament removal fairy did not come while we were away. As soon as we walked in the door, a blue bulb fell to the floor, and with it, an entire branch. It was time.

And with every green, red, and blue bulb, not only did a million crunchy needles fall, an entire branch broke. No matter how gingerly I attempted to lift a green ornament hook, I would bring the hook, ornament, and dehydrated limb. When it came time to unwind the string of lights, I nearly decapitated the poor thing. It's good that we are tree ornament minimalists, because we could have found ourselves face to face with a gruesomely bare Christmas carcass.

Come to think of it, it's not too far off base from what was left standing when Mark got home. He was charged with picking up the body, I mean, tree, and carrying it out to his truck. What wasn't lost in the removal of decorations was strewn through the house, a trail of Christmas come and gone tears.

It wasn't quite the battle I had anticipated in terms of Heath and Stella protesting the tree take-down. As a matter of fact, they rather enjoyed the new found activity of sweeping the needles and branches into piles, then running their trucks through it. Sometimes the debris was even loaded into cars, trucks, and rain boots.

Who says Christmas is over? I'm pretty sure we will be sweeping up fir bits until we get our tree next December.