Sometimes It Pays to be Inept

Thank God for sons. My oldest, Patrick, offered to do something so wonderful this Christmas, so stupendous and magical, I’m pinching myself. Okay, the real reason he’s doing it is because I’m incompetent. But I’m all right with that. In fact, I couldn’t be happier.

Patrick is putting up our Christmas tree.

No doubt, my son wanted to re-create the Yuletide memories of his childhood. The trees then were big, wondrous affairs, taking up entire corners of the living room. We decorated them in sparkly, colored ornaments, candy canes, and sweet hand-made trinkets from school made of popsicle sticks and red and green cardboard.

But the years passed, and something strange happened. I grew tired of doing it. Maybe because I had a husband who travelled a lot and teenage sons who became too cool for Christmas, the task of bedecking a full-grown tree fell to me.

Before long, I started getting “creative.”

The huge fir was replaced by a monstrously ugly full-grown artificial tree that came in three easy-to-assemble pieces. Then came the era of the small real trees (which I called ‘fun size”), but always looked sad and shrunken. Then I tried fully assembled, “sparkly” fake trees from Home Depot. These were pretty, but as I came to learn, had enough loose glitter to scare off Lady Gaga.

Last year, at my wit’s end, I decorated a Ficus tree. Yes, I trimmed a large plant. I thought it looked fine, but everyone in the house (it turns out) was secretly horrified.

In stepped Patrick. After forty years of being in charge of Christmas trees, I got my notice. I’ve been sacked. And I couldn’t be more grateful.

I reminded Patrick that when he says, “He’ll do the tree,” that means everything – buying from the local farm, dragging it into the house, setting it up, putting on lights, decorating, making sure it stays watered. I also reminded him of the backend of this project – taking everything down and sweeping up the pine needles.

He agreed.

Now for the first time in my married life, I intend to sit back and watch the magic happen… maybe with a fire going and carols playing. Maybe with a glass of bubbly Prosecco in my hand.

I told Patrick he doesn’t have to get me anything else for this holiday. We’re good.  My son saw a need (okay, a big need) and stepped in to fill it. I’ll be forever grateful.

Sometimes I think of that little toddler who loved those big trees of the past. Now he’s a bearded young man, making it all happen for his dear old mom. Funny, how despite my going through trees like Zsa Zsa Gabor went through husbands, I still have those handmade popsicle stick and cardboard ornaments, more ragged with the years, but I could never throw out.

I guess it helps to be incompetent after all.

 

Is there a Christmas chore you could do without? Comments are always welcome and if you like, please share.

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