As I was finishing up, though, I remembered this one Christmas when I went rogue and so I went looking for the link to that story and it was super, über weak. So I thought, hey! I could retell that story. And that's how this all came about.
See, the man that I love, affectionately known as the MOG (man of God), is not really a cheery elf when it comes to holidays. He might have been better before he married me, when we were 7 years old, but I am CRAZY about Christmas and so maybe it's just a counterbalance kinda thing. So every year before the Year of the Fake Tree (last year) there has been the Festive Annual Christmas Tree Fight. Christmas 2007, we were relatively financially constrained, as usual, and I did some internet shenanigans and won a $100 gift card. It was a rent.com thing, for anyone who was getting concerned. And, as per usual, I left all the mail in a pile somewhere like the couch or the counter or in the bathtub, to look at later, and as per usual, he came home and threw it all away, in a continual quest for cleanliness next to godliness. THREW IT AWAY.
Fast forward through -how could you why would you why didn't you just why in the world would you I'll tell you what YOU can do- to him going back to work and me, deciding whether to give up on my $100 or what. Moments later I was buckling all of the children into carseats and climbing into the apartment dumpster. I'm a lofty 5'1 and it was not easy to get up there, and once I was in, I was relieved to find that it smelled awesome in there. Just kidding, it smelled like the sewers of hell. I pushed bags around until I found some trash that looked familiar and I found the card.
I celebrated loudly from inside the dumpster and then, I must have cleaned up somehow, I don't remember. I then drove victoriously to Walmart and bought a giant tree and brought it home, where I locked babies in rooms and cussed my tree down from the minivan, down the sidewalk and through the door. There was unbelievable amounts of needle carnage all around me, and I was lacerated and sappy, literally sappy, and I was giddy. I then wrestled the 7.5 foot tree into the stand and decorated it with small curious people underfoot, and then we swept all the needles into the parking lot and hid the evidence.
By the time the Mr. came home from work, I met him at the door with 90% rebellious smirk and 10% Christmas spirit. He was pretty amused and relieved to have had the task ripped from his reluctant and miserly hands. And God blessed us, every one.