Sorry, Neighbors

(but the tree is staying up.)

If my post a couple weeks back wasn’t indicator enough of the festivity that happened in our home (hearts, really) this year, this little story will.

I told Brock before bed tonight that it was time to take the tree down and put away our Christmas cheer until next year. The kid actually teared up. Like, real life tears. (I am going to partially blame the over-exhaustion.) We talked through the excitement we’ll have pulling out the boxes again next year, and how it wouldn’t be that exciting if we just left it up all year. Kind of like how our coffee table isn’t exciting anymore. He started to get it, and after a long silence, finally said, “So should I say goodbye to the tree now, or will it still be here in the morning?” (Evidently we share that gene of needing proper closure on seasons/holidays/everything ever.)

Even beyond Brock’s exhaustion though, the tears made sense. Cutting down Christmas trees has been a family tradition since I was a little kid in a grass skirt on the hillside in Papua New Guinea. We’ve always made much of the event. This was the first time he was responsible for the tree cutting process. This tree was symbolic of his manhood.

I asked him what he was looking for in a perfect tree. “One I can cut down.” (Duh, Mom.)

“Found it!”


“BROCKBROCKBROCK!! Let’s try a different method.”

“Here. Try this,” I said. He was annoyed. “Mom you’re not even cutting! You’re just looking at me and smiling!”

He got the idea.



I’m fairly certain our neighbors could’ve used a peace offering after we dragged that tree up three flights of stairs, laughing all the way (ha ha ha…).

We celebrated our acquisition in the way we always do.

With dancing. And chocolate.

With dancing. And chocolate.

The trimming began...

The trimming began…

...which obviously called for more chocolate. With a hot chocolate chaser.

…which obviously called for more chocolate. Followed by a hot chocolate chaser.

And because I know you wouldn’t have proper closure on our tree trimming party without a picture of the final piece, I present to you, the angel topper:


After the party’s sugar high (and inevitable crash), we soaked in the illuminating cheer over a bowl of tomato soup and Home Alone.


A lot of memories were made around Brock’s tree this year.


multiple gatherings with special friends

multiple parties

multiple parties…not to be confused with gatherings with special friends


multiple traditions


also known as friendly competitions

(traditions where we kick my sibling's kids' asses every year)

in which we, for the sake of tradition, kick my sibling’s kids’ asses every year

We finally tried to get “real” pictures in front of the tree before church on Christmas Eve. Brock was cooperating, and then things went downhill. I blame the lack of success on the recent return of my remised Christmas spirit. I wanted to apologize (mostly for the sake of my very proper grandmother), but realized it’d be a lie anyway. Instead, I cropped the crotch shot so as to at least maintain some of my lady-like dignity.

Although we didn’t end up with a Christmas-card-worthy picture of the two of us this year, we enjoyed making the most of this tree. Of this season. Of this revived Christmas spirit.

So, neighbors, my apologies in advance for the glow you may still be fighting off of your living room television screens tomorrow evening (the benefits of big windows and shared spaces in condo living), but Brock and I are not ready to say goodbye to our tree tonight.


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