Oh Tannenbaum

It was with surprise and a bit of concern that I finally realized Christmas is upon us. I'd like to say that the tree and lights are up, the cards mailed and the house filled with holiday cheer.

In rea lity, I have a messy house, two unpacked suitcases full of dirty clothes from our last two weekends out of town, and the best intentions to remedy all of the above in the next week.

I may not get to putting the Christmas lights up on the house; it's rainy and cold out there. But I drew the line at not having a Christmas tree; what kind of Mom would I be if I skipped that?

And so we trudged into last night with smiles and rain on our faces. My friend Edra was kind enough to accompany us, as she has an S U V big enough to hold a freshly-cut tree. Because we'll only be home another week, I explained that we were getting a small tree -- I didn't want to deal with all the hauling, setting up and cleaning up after for an 8-foot-tree.

Mark announced he wanted a Charlie Brown tree. I could tell by the way he said it he didn't know what that meant. His explanation confirmed my suspicions.

"It's a little tree," he said.

"A little tree that's lopsided with no needles on it," I corrected him. "It's a ski nny, sad little tree."

He frowned and immediately recanted. "I don't want a needle-less tree," he said.

Mark bounded into the stalls full of trees laying on their sides. After climbing to the back of the bunch, he reached down to grab one at the bottom wedged under all the other trees. After much grunting and struggling, he pulled it out and yelled, "I want this one!"

I simply reached down and pulled up the tree closest to me. "I like this one," I said.

Edra followed my lead as Mark set about unwrapping the string around his tree. She picked up a tree and fluffed out the needles. "This one's cute, too," she said. We held up the three contenders, and let Mark choose. He then told me to grab the trunk. As I bent to do exactly that, he walked away with the tree, leaving me bent over and empty-handed. He glanced over his shoulder and laughed at me.

Back home, I lit a fire, turned on some Christmas carols, and filled a glass with wine from Napa. The rain outside was dancing on the roof. I dug out the lights, ornaments, and tree holder. I propped them up on a table to make the tree taller. The cats raced to the tree and claimed their new favorite spot




Mark loved our little tree. As soon as it was up, my spiritually-confused son clapped his hands and happily started singing, "Tonight is the night we light the menorah!" (Kelley's influence reaches far beyond the state line...) Which I was about to deem not-quite-appropriate until I realized it was, indeed, the first night of Hanukkah.

Mark ransacked the box of ornaments, choosing all his favorites. There were some pre-Mark ornaments ("Sloppy Joe's Bar, Mom? Really? A Christmas ornament from a BAR?") and some post-Mark ones that I love (a hand-colored bear with the following inscription on the back: "7 age, 2007, to Mom from Mark Dinsdale.")

We finished pretty quickly because our tree was so small. I loved it, though -- all our ornaments are from cities we've visited, so each one triggers a little trip down vacation memory lane. It was fun because I relived half the vacations with Edra ("Look, Edra, Pinocchio from Italy!") and half with Mark ("Look Mark, Disney World!"). We did have one small tragedy, when one of my favorite ornaments fell off the tree and immediately shattered into a million tiny pieces.

"Dollywood just took a dive!" I cried. I swept up the pieces and mourned; who knows when I'll ever get back to Pigeon Forge, Tennessee? (Honestly, I never thought I'd go there in the first place.)




At the end of the night, our tree looked lovely. I added decorative snowmen and Santas all over the house, and suddenly, Christmas had arrived. The messy piles of mail and luggage had been replaced by the holiday spirit.

Or rather, holiday spirits, as Mark admired the tree, and hummed Hanukkah songs.

The difference between kids and adults

Yesterday, Mark heard a radio announcer talking about Hanukkah. I explained what Hanukkah is (yes, for you, Kelley!), but didn't get much past the eight nights of gifts.

"Wait, they get presents for EIGHT NIGHTS?" Mark interrupted.

"Yup."

"Well, I'm Jewish," he said.

I looked at him, and said, "I know for a fact you are not Jewish."

"I'm HALF Jewish," he clarified.

"Well, then you get presents for four nights!" I told him.

But when he realized there's no Santa involved in Hanukkah, he sold out his Jewish heritage pretty quickly.

He was still thinking about holidays when he got home, and asked which my favorites were.

"Um, Christmas and Thanksgiving, I guess."

He wrinkled his nose. "Mine are Christmas, Halloween and Easter."

It didn't take a genius to figure out why--two are centered around candy, and one around toys. You can't fault an 8-year-old for thinking in those terms.

He asked why I liked Thanksgiving more than Halloween or Easter, so I told him, "I get two days off work, and I get to spend them with the people I love most--our family and friends."

"Yeah, true," Mark agreed, but he still wasn't sold on it.

He talked about the letter he was writing to Santa, and his wish list. It was the same as last year--he wants a skateboard, iPod, and cell phone (doesn't matter that he has no one to call). Which lead to a little discussion of how Santa makes toys, not electronics, and maybe he should revise his list a bit or he might be really disappointed.

Mark asked what I want for Christmas. I gave the same answer--"To spend time off with my family and friends." I really meant it.

To me, that's the best present ever. A good bottle of wine, a warm cup of coffee, a shared meal--all those are better with family or friends. Watching my son, nieces and nephews tearing open gifts, or running through the house together. Laughing with my sisters-in-law about my family. Laughing with my brothers and parents about the kids. Laughing so hard with my friends that we snort, or the sound disappears altogether, and we hold our stomachs, laughing silently, like mimes.

Holding my friends' new baby boy, and watching him crawl for the first time, or sit up by himself. Catching up with friends I haven't seen in a while, and hearing about their lives over the past few months. Listening to them comment on how tall Mark's gotten, and how big his cousins have all grown, too. Sharing homemade cookies, or coffee cake, or an evening gondola ride and Christmas lights with my favorite people.

That is what I want for Christmas. I can't think of a better way to celebrate the season than spending time with the people I love most.

And that is what I'm giving Mark for Christmas, too--he may not appreciate it as much an iPod, not now anyway. But someday, when he and his cousins are grown and gathering together again; when Christmas Day includes all of their kids, their friends, and their aunts and uncles; when he realizes that a cell phone conversation is not as important as a face-to-face conversation; then, he will appreciate it.

And then he will know that even though his mom is a big sentimental baby, maybe she's right. Maybe there are presents that we already have, that Santa can't bring. And maybe we can be thankful for that every other day of the year, not just at Christmas.