It seems every year I pledge that this will be the year with no Christmas tree drama. Lee would like a drama-free artificial, pre-lit tree, but I just love a fresh tree. In an effort to bolster my case, these past several years I’ve been determined to make things easy. To visit only one lot, to be decisive, to not choose the tallest tree imaginable.
However, the last couple of years we haven’t been too pleased with our trees, despite my best efforts. So when Camille’s gymnastics coach was handing out brochures about the gym’s Christmas tree fundraiser, I paid attention. You pre-pay for a tree, and the day before it’s to be delivered, they cut it fresh from a farm.
And did I mention they deliver it straight to your front door? I don’t think it gets any easier.
I was a little hesitant to buy a tree without seeing it, but it couldn’t be worse than last year’s scrawny tree from the charity lot, right? So I ordered a 5-6 foot tree, knowing that Lee is 6 feet tall and thinking that sounded about right.
And then came Friday – delivery day.
The tree is beautiful. It’s fresh and fragrant. It’s green and full.
And Camille was able to put the star on top all by herself without a ladder or a lift.
That is one short tree. Maybe – MAYBE – five feet tall if you measure to the tippy-top of the top sprig.
When I saw it I wanted to throw myself on the floor in toddler-tantrum-style, but that wouldn’t be drama-free, would it?
Hey, at least it’s not going to fall over this year because it’s too tall for the tree stand, right? It’s so small it’s comical. We call it our Oompa Loompa tree. Santa’s elves are sure to love it.