Christmas Traditions I'll Never Do Again

three: yeah, definitely a bad idea

No book or movie or blog has prepared me for this: the fighting that ensues when trying to pick out which tree to get.

They all look the same to me, but Dusty wants the one that's nearly eight feet tall and as round as a truck, Jemma wants the one that's half dead (because "who else has an orange tree?"), and Eloise wants a spindly one that's missing half of its leaves because she "feels bad for it" (even though we're literally about to cut it down).

Thus I have been standing here, in the cold, holding a chainsaw, while the slushy snow beneath me slowly begins to seep through my boots, all while the girls are yelling at the top of their lungs.

"But who else is going to buy this tree?" Eloise pleads. "It'll be all alone!"
"It's a tree," Jemma replies, "trees don't have feelings!"

She has a point.

"But this one," Dusty whines, pointing to the giant tree, "is bigger and better!"

After a few more minutes of this bickering, I step in. "Which one would your mom want?"

This is part of a thing called "thinking of others" that Finn keeps telling me about. I say to the girls, "Instead of thinking about which one you want, think about which one your mom would want."

Eloise relents and agrees. "Yeah, you're right. We should be thinking of others instead of ourselves."

I blink. So have other people heard of it? I thought Finn just made it up.

Eventually, we pick out one that's completely different than the one they'd been arguing about--a medium-sized spruce with all of its branches and no orange.

"Alright," I say loftily. "Time to mow this tree down. Does anyone know how to use this thing?" I hold up the chainsaw and the girls shake their heads.

I heave a sigh and pull this little dangly string attached to the chainsaw. "Okay let's see--"

The chainsaw suddenly roars to life and we all scream in unison. I jump back, dropping the chainsaw on the ground.

It gets angry and starts spinning around in a swirl of death.

"Run!" I yell.

We scatter like ants, taking shelter behind trees.

"You have to get it!" Eloise yelps.

By now, the chainsaw has picked up speed and currently looks like a medieval fidget spinner.

"I'm not touching that thing," I say.

"But what about our tree?" Jemma asks, clinging to the branch of a fur.

I have to think quickly and turn to the nearest tree that doesn't look half bad.

"Give me a hand," I say. "We'll uproot it instead of cutting it down."

We rock the tree back and forth until it begins unearthing itself. It takes a few tries, but we eventually pull the whole tree out of the ground, roots and dirt and all.

It's an ugly sight, really, with tentacles and muck stuck to its bottom.

"We've gotta get out of here," Eloise pants.

We leave the spinning chainsaw on the ground and book it to the tree wrapping station.

A round-faced man greets us with a smile. "Merry Christmas! What can I--"

"Wrap it and go," I say. "Here's my ticket."

We wait impatiently as the tree goes through the conveyor belt and comes out the other side wrapped in a net.

It takes all four of us to secure the tree on top of the minivan and Jemma almost gets killed when it topples over on the other side, but we're eventually on the road with all of our limbs intact and the tree secure.

"Well," I sigh, "that was fun."

"It was not fun, Aunt Bev," Dusty replies seriously.

Eloise says, "She was being sarcastic."

As we drive along the winding roads, the sky darkens, signaling that snow is in the forecast.

Once we pull back into the driveway, Jemma and Dusty are off as soon as the car is parked, leaving Eloise and I to unload.

"They sure know how to work a scam," I mutter, attempting to untie the straps holding the tree in place, even though my fingers are frozen solid.

"As Dusty gets older, she's getting smarter. Put her with Jemma and they're nothing but trouble." Eloise manages to get her side untied before I do.

"What about you?" I ask. "Gotten into any trouble?"

Eloise rolls her eyes, knowing the instance I'm referring to. "No. Things are...better. Different. Good different."

"Good," I say. "How's your mom?"

I realize I should be calling my sister "Aimee" instead of just "my niece's mom", but in reality, I know her better that way than I ever did as a sister.

Eloise shrugs a shoulder before we haul the tree down from the roof.

"I guess she's okay. She's never been the same after the divorce, but now she just kinda seems...scattered. Like...I don't know...like she doesn't really know who she is anymore. Y'know, since she took a more at-home position at work. Now she's stuck with us most days and has the house to take care of."

"Huh," I mutter. "Well, maybe she'll cheer up when she sees this thing."

I'm about to be proven wrong.

We're taking the tree up the steps when Aimee meets us at the door.

Her eyes widen and then narrow as she looks at the tree, then at us, back to the tree again.
"It...it still has roots on it," she says, more bewildered than angry. "Did you even cut it?"

"Yeah, about that." I shuffle my feet and say, "Do you happen to have a chainsaw?"

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Hey everyone! Less than a week until Christmas! Who's excited? Do you have any fun plans?

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