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Cutting Down the Christmas Tree

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This year we went to a simple tree farm in Lewisburg, Ohio, from which you can see the farm where my dad grew up, and where my grandma still lives. There was hardly anyone there. There was no Santa or free hot cocoa or a tree shaker or wreaths for sale—just a guy and a fire and a log to sit on if you got too cold—it was perfect.

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After we visited my grandma and enjoyed my aunt Ellen’s bread, coffee and hot tea.

It’s a beautiful tree.

“Never worry about the size of your Christmas tree. In the eyes of children, they are all 30-feet tall.” —Larry Wilde

Related posts:

  1. Trimming the Tree
This entry was written by kara, posted on December 23, 2009 at 11:03 pm, filed under Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post. Post a comment or leave a trackback: Trackback URL.
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    I met Greg in junior high and now I have a daughter (shown here, with Andy) almost the same age, middle school, and tonight we celebrated Greg’s birthday, and time is such a crazy thing. Happy birthday, Greg. Thanks for all the moments in all these years that became and will become happy memories. Like tonight. This summer we’ve been (slowly) redoing Sophie’s room, which has been the same for the past 9 years. The old walls had cracked a lot over this time, requiring a lot of patch work, and Andy patiently painted all the moulding and trim (there is a ton in her room). Today we hung the S Sophie’s grandma made for her for her birthday. It’s the perfect welcome to a tween/teen room and it even looks cute in the hallway, when Sophie’s door is closed (which seems to happen more often these days). #older Dad’s tomatoes, backyard basil ... so far no one is hollering at me (too much) for making bruschetta for dinner every other night. You know that feeling of butterflies flitting about when you watch your kids step up to the plate (or anything, really) and bat? I now feel the same watching my dad bat! It’s all love, really. Last night I was thinking how cool it is that I get to watch my blood a generation below and a generation above play baseball. I find such comfort in being sandwiched, bookended by the people in my life in this way. It’s cozy here, whole. These middle years really aren’t that bad after all. When you get the newest Dog Man at a great independent children’s bookstore while wandering the Decatur Book Festival and can’t help but read through dinner (and you’ve practiced patience because you have to share with your brother by taking turns after every chapter) ... I’m so thankful for anything that pulls them away from electronics these days I worry, when they tackle each other over whose turn it is to use the pitchback or brush first but then they go and show off all their sweetness in a long weekend with younger cousins and I’m once again calm — well, until there’s one Gatorade left in the cooler on the ride home. 180,400-some miles. We bought this van used when I was pregnant with the boys. Pretty certain this is the end. I’m not connected to the physical van (my god the damage that’s been done to the interior, the non-working sliding door, the leaking trunk, the fickle air conditioner) but more so all the memories in it. It was the backdrop to so much in a crazy time of our lives. On Friday we put two new tires on it. And fresh oil in it. Also, we’re in Atlanta. (Because of course this is where it decided to die.) And everything is closed until Tuesday. Adulting is hard sometimes. But I’m at my sister-in-law’s house, with cold Chardonnay, and cousins sweetly playing together, and Lizz is making some heavenly smelling three-layered dessert, so there’s definitely more good than bad (and usually it’s that way, if I remind myself to think that way). On this dreary Tuesday remembering this sunny Saturday when James insisted on a Mai Tai in a carved-out pineapple like the grownups. (Nick graciously made him a non-alcoholic one.) I did that thing tonight where I dropped all responsibility while running late-night errands and took myself out to the last showing of the evening of Bernadette and reviews be damned I thoroughly enjoyed it. If you create anything, and you’re a mom, and you’ve crawled into bed and pulled the sheets over your head during daylight hours and before your kids could voice their opinions you strapped them in your van and drove to falling-down mansions for sale and sat in said mansions’ driveways dreaming what you’d do to the place (Porter House I still think about you) I promise you will like it. When the book came out I heard tell some people thought Bernadette was a bad mom. I think she was a fantastic mom. Her relationship with her daughter is enviable and one I work hard for daily. Yesterday I turned down a chance to go to India for a long-enough trip that my kids would have all likely grown 1/16” before I returned. It was really hard but no pity — it was the right decision for many personal reasons and one that will allow more travel in the future. Still, perhaps that’s why I connected a bit more to this movie. Read the book if you haven’t. Maria Semple. I adore it. Hitting grounders to the boys, Sunday night. Io watching. Io found yarn. I can’t think of a better representation for 11, 6th grade, middle school, lockers, braces, than those painted-once-over stripes. Andy’s dad painted those stripes (Did we thank him enough? Why don’t I have a picture?) and when I heard Andy ask Google to play The Steeldrivers’ ‘Where Rainbows Never Die’ as he painted over them ... I’m getting too personal (we both had glossy eyes). I can’t write about Sophie anymore. I can’t even post pictures without her permission. As it should be. So much is changing. She’s had this room since she was 2. It’s time. Andy scraped bits of slime and glitter off the walls before patching and priming. She’ll likely have this new room until she graduates. Confession: I like to complain about the ridiculous 2-mile drive that takes much too long through town to the middle school but I actually love it. She talks. My mom has always said this. Cars are magic that way. Also, this: http://www.pleiadesbee.com/2012/01/an-afternoon-in-sophies-bedroom.html 6th, 4th and 4th! ❤️ I asked Andy if he could do a little yard work tonight. He looked at the situation (we’ve been slacking) and determined we need a machete. No yard work has been done but he and James (who is thrilled with this development) are out shopping for a new machete. This is not at all how I hoped tonight would go. 🤣 Just in case you were wondering, back-to-school clothes shopping with these two is (still) a test in patience. (But I still love them, even when they’re smelling mannequins’ butts.) Walked through her middle school (!) schedule with her tonight. Sat at a desk in one of her classrooms so I could see what she will see. She rolled her eyes and begged me to get up which is 11-year-old speak for “I love you,” right? I grew up on land. Now, in the summers, kids who live on our street are in and out of our house, all day long. And my kids are in and out of our neighbors’ houses, all day long. At first, this was so stressful. I was always frantically picking up for “company.” But then I realized kid friends are less company and more family and, honestly, they don’t care. Especially if you have a stocked pantry. Owen and James are so lucky to have each other, yes. But imagine sharing everything. A birth date. A room. Activities (for now). Toys. Clothes. Minds (so they say). By luck, Sophie has several girlfriends her age on our street (she’s spending the night at one of their houses right now). The boys, not so many except for S, and I’m so grateful. He’s such a cool kid and handles my twins’ love/hate relationship with each other with ease. His presence and friendship has made this summer so much nicer. So while I often (every day) miss SPACE, there are benefits to living within barefoot running distance to your friends’ houses. And for that, I am grateful. Summer Saturday night Bingo at Grandma’s May 2013. Photo by @mpace1.
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