Growing up we always had a real tree in our home — it’s not Christmas without the smell of the pine and the constant allergic sneezes and stuffy nose. So, as an adult I could never corrupt my Christmas with an artificial tree. Well, the years went on and as a family it became a tradition to visit a tree farm and cut the perfect tree after riding the hay ride and drinking hot chocolate. All went well year after year until my husband, Lindsey, got sick and was in a rehab center at the time the tree needed to be cut. Undeterred, the day after Thanksgiving, I broke him out of the rehab center for the afternoon, put him in the car, and drove the escape car to the tree farm. He watched as I cut the tree, put it in the back of our Ford Explorer truck and headed home to decorate. I got the tree in the house, put it up and decorated, returned Lindsey to the Rehab center and went home feeling so proud of my accomplishment. Our Christmas got more complicated though, after Lindsey came home from the rehab center, he got sick again and ended up in the hospital. Almost the entire month of December was spent between rehab center, hospital and rehab center again. In that time I kept the tree watered, but the house wasn’t vacuumed or dusted. When I finally got him home and attempted to bring the tree down, I realized there were thousands of little baby spiders that were birthed in my beautiful live tree. That was the year I decided to go to the after Christmas sale at Walmart and buy my first artificial Christmas tree.
Note to self: maybe my first step in preparing for Christmas is to remind myself the real meaning of Christmas.