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Smelly tree, smelly tree, it’s not your fault

I’ve often complained about our 2007 Christmas Tree. It smelled like teenaged badgers held a little but raucous kegger in the branches. I couldn’t wait to get rid of it—in fact, it was completely stripped of ornaments by the morning of December 26th. No regrets. I guess it’s the hazard of being in love with live trees. Fish function in water, as W.C. Fields noted. Animals do it in trees.

But our first Christmas tree still wins the war of the smelly trees.

Ironically, it was artificial. More important than it’s factory birth is that it was second-hand. An elderly woman who worked at the college library with my husband during his work-study days thought we might like to have her old Christmas stuff. We were very broke and working our first post-college jobs. I was pregnant with Aidan. We welcomed the large battered box she turned over to him.

The tree didn’t come with directions, so we puzzled over putting together the dark green, tattered branches. At full height, it was around 5 feet tall. It looked like an overgrown and frayed plastic pipe cleaner. We used the ornaments she gave to us as well. Each had seen more glorious and proud days. Two strings of little colored bulbs snaked around and around. With the room lights off, it was beautiful if you squinted your eyes and were drunk on newlywed love and Christmas wonder. We cuddled on the couch admiring our first Christmas tree. Then Pregnantnose kicked in.

What is that smell?

It took about 2 seconds to discern it was the tree. The heat from the room and the act of unfurling the branches released the scent of a 3-pack-a-day smoker’s breath.

My husband remembered his old co-worker was a heavy smoker. As a recent ex-smoker, I was somewhat sympathetic regarding her habit. But between hormones and overblown expectations of Our First Christmas as a Married Couple, I wasn’t thrilled to be sharing our 1950’s-era miniscule apartment with a deep-green cousin to the rampaging tobacco monster, no matter how charming the twinkly lights looked in the dark.

We hoped the odor would dissipate after a few days. I don’t know if it truly did or if we just got used to our new roommate, but it became less of an issue.

Each of our moms gave commemorative and personalized first Christmas ornaments to us. When we hung them, we took full ownership.

This is Lee and Gretchen’s Tree.

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Our Christmas was far from dismal. We were expecting our first baby, we had supportive and loving families, jobs, two old but working cars, and each other.

We also had the Q-tip the Jolly Green Giant used to clean out his enormous ears.

Waterbaby

I had an ultrasound this morning.

The fluid went up to 10.5, which everyone was happy to see. Little guy was and is moving well. I need to continue drinking the equivalent of a small mountain lake every day and lie down several times for a good rest, but otherwise they feel I can go about my business (which entails scurrying in all directions). My next check is in a week.

But don’t let all that make you drop us from your prayer list. We still have several weeks to go before our still-nameless (just slipping that in) boy is fully ready to join all of us on the outside.

Christmas spirits

I was once haunted by placemats.

The day after Christmas 2004, I went to Target to scoop up Christmas junk at 50% off. I won’t shop on Black Friday, but I embrace Clearance Day. I buy all my cards, wrapping paper, knick knacks, and other useless things like snowman soap pumps, all in the name of next Christmas.

That year, I found adorable corduroy gingerbread man placemats. They came in pairs. At the time I had five kids and a secret. Several weeks earlier, I found out I was pregnant for the sixth time but nobody knew except for my husband and me. I delighted in putting three packages in my cart, thinking of the six children I’d have during Christmas 2005. Perfect!

February 2005 came. I miscarried at 12 weeks and was absolutely devastated. I miscarried again in July.

On December 1, 2005, my Grandma Mary died suddenly. The year was doling out kicks in the teeth quite liberally, and it wasn’t through yet.

Sometime after we returned home from my grandma’s funeral, I decided to pull out the Christmas box to decorate a little, especially for the kids who were still really excited for the holiday. Inside, mingling with ornaments and snowglobes, were the gingerbread men placemats. Count of six.

I still remember the curse words that sprang from my mouth when I saw them. It wasn’t the lowest point of my life, but it was close.

A few days later, my amazing and dear Grandma Alice suffered a stroke at home by herself. She spent five hours crawling from her kitchen to her bedroom to call 911. She died a week and a half later on December 23, 2005.

My. God. Bleak. Muddling.

I didn’t know that within days, Beatrix would be joining us in the form of Superembryo, living and thriving and growing into a miracle baby. She was born in September. No pressure on her, but she brought about tremendous healing and a restoration of smiles to everyone. I imagined my two lovely grandmothers in Heaven and how much they would have loved her. It wasn’t a bitter, regretful emotion any more. It was a thank you to them for being amazing, influential women in my life and a thank you to God for sending our little girl.

I left the placemats in their packages during Christmas 2006, but last year I took them out and displayed them. Yesterday, on the anniversary of my Grandma Mary’s death, the kids found them in the box I had my husband drag up from the basement.

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Six corduroy men, rick-rack wrists and ankles, felt scarved and buttoned, smiling.

Now I can smile back.