update: the WalMart version -- edited not due to the evil known as censorship, but owing to the power of holiday songs playing endlessly... "You better not pout, you better not cry, you better not use bad words when telling Christamas stories, 'cause Santa Claus is coming..." ...you know the rest. Heed the warning.
Oh no, no studying tonight... yes, the Algebra Final is Monday, but that's what the case of Red Bull and 10 hours of Sunday night are for....
Tonight, was The Night. Anticipation ran high, we had talked and planned and double-checked our schedules. We made arrangements, synchronized our watches. We didn't know why, but we did. We worked out the specifics, after 10 years you don't just leap into it like crazed weasels anymore, we both made a few concessions, a few adjustments. We both know by now not to hold the past up as a model, to let our expectations get too high, to make any attempt at recapturing past glory. People change. You learn to settle. The last thing anyone wants to hear in this situation is "Well, it was the thought that counts."
"It's not your fault."
"It's ok, it happens to a lot of people. Come sit over here on the couch."
"We can always try again next year."
"You know, on Oprah today..." *
Yes, tonight was the night: Johnny Mathis, hot buttered rum, the candles all glowing... it's time to decorate the tree. Of course the classic tunes were quickly replaced by It's a Muppet Christmas and none of the lights worked, unless you count the plink! when they were stepped on, and it took all of 3 minutes for the tree to ever so slightly begin leaning... but it had to be done.
The tree choosing was probably our smoothest ever. These situations are rife with danger, a veritible minefield on the snowy (not literally, it was 72 and sunny, as always) path to holiday joy. The ghosts of christmas tree farms past: ... Three children running amuck in the muck, lost among the pines and firs, either falling on love with the largest most expensive tree -- look Dad, it's only 9 dollars and 495 cents! -- or the sad-sack dry bough found in the mud -- I'll decorate it Dad, I'll take care of it, pu-leeeeze! ... The Wife soliciting my opinion on which tree best matches the living room, or should she choose a shade of green to best match the ornaments? For which we now know the best response in a tree farm full of chidren and people in Santa hats is not along the lines of "they're all Tannenbaum green, they're all Tannenbaum trees, none of them will Tannenbaum fit and I have to Tannenbaum rearrange the Tannenbaum furniture six times anyway, so just Tannenbaum pick one!" We don't go back to that place anymore. ... #2 showing #3 the cute and cuddley farm animals at the petting zoo, and #3 being young and still adorable saying in his most adorable voice how cute the animals are, even the cute turkey, awww... until #1 chimes in, with his not adorable I have the faintest whisps of a future mustache and I'm almost a teenager voice, "They kill them all for dinner."
Nope, in comparison, this year was cake. Makes me wonder when the tree will fall over, tonight at 2am, or tomorrow when no one will be home to rescue the cat pinned underneath?
*ok, I know that last one doesn't really apply, but I hate to hear it anyway. Actually, she prob. did have a Christamas Tree show and everyone in the audience got their own 10 ft. Fir and an elf to string the lights.