Oh Christmas Tree

I am a sucker for Christmas. Not just the day, but the entire holiday season.

I remember as a kid begging my dad to let us put up the Christmas tree the moment Thanksgiving was over. He usually complied. My dad, being the smart man he is, would set up the artificial tree and lights before I was allowed to enter the room. Then my mom and I would dig through the box of Christmas ornaments, usually while listening to something like Barry Manilow’s Christmas tunes or watching Rudolph.

As a mommy, I naturally want my kiddos to develop memories like this. However, so far it’s not going so great.

I remember in 2007, when Mike had just left for Iraq and the kids were a mere 2 (almost 3) and four years old, we set up the tree early. Over the next few weeks, the kids managed to run and knock that tree over at least a dozen times. Finally, fed up by their carelessness, I fussed: “If you knock that tree over one more time, I’m just taking it down.”

Little Ethan responded incorrectly. “Yeah, let’s just take it down.”

Abby gave the wrong answer as well. “Yeah, it’s too pokey anyway. I don’t like it.”

Geez. Now what? They had called my bluff and I was NOT going to take my tree down. We ended up going to Wal-Mart to find a cheap, “less pokey” tree.

This morning, three years later, the kids asked if we could put up the tree. Sure we could put up the tree! Are you kidding me?

So I went out to the storage building behind the house and dragged the tree box around front, so as to not disturb Puggles the dog. When I opened the box…ugh. Mouse poop. The box was full of mouse poop.

“Kids, I don’t think we can use this tree.”

Ethan, my son with autism, already had it in his head that we were going to put up our tree this morning. There was no changing his mind.

So I said, “why don’t we go to Wal-Mart and get a new tree that isn’t covered in mouse droppings?”

“I’m afraid that would cost too much,” Ethan said. “We can just use that one.”

Seeing that he was not going to back down, I took the tree parts outside, doused them with an entire can of Lysol and prayed we would not get some rare form of lyme disease that only comes from the mixture of mouse poop and plastic tree bristles.

Next, I realized that the slits that go along the bottom piece of the tree – i.e., the part that actually makes the tree stand up – were gone. “Ethan,” I tried again. “I think we need to just go get a new tree.”

Nope. In the words of Tim Gunn of Project Runway, it was a “just make it work” moment. So I tried. I took a box, filled it with heavy stuff, and stuck the tree trunk down inside the box. It took well over half an hour, but if the tree was properly perched between two kitchen chairs, it did not fall over.

The “prelit” part of the tree did not work except on the bottom third, so I pulled out the extra lights and planned to wrap. Of course, the tree shifted and leaned every time I wrapped the tree. In the meantime, the kids were busy putting on ornaments – which all managed to accumulate over about one square foot of the tree – and they were getting angry with one another. “Hey, I wanted that one!” “You’re in my way!”

I was not happy and Ethan could tell it. “Mommy, it’s ok if we only have lights on the bottom of the tree.” “Mommy, it’s ok if we don’t use that ornament.”

Finally, the kids went off to watch Nick Jr. while I worked on trying to fix the @#$!% tree. Then it happened.

BAM! The whole thing fell over. The box ripped. The heavy stuff poured out.

My sweet little boy came over, put his arm on me, and in his comforting tone… ”Mommy, it’s still ok if it leans a little.”

Leans a little. The thing was lying horizontal on the floor.

That was the Christmas memory I'd been waiting for, and wow how I laughed after that.


(And yes, we will be buying a new tree come Friday.)

A Trip to the Doctor

I have been suffering from what I assumed was just a bad cold/cough for two weeks. After several people insisting I should go see the doctor, I decided to go to the drop-in medical clinic at Wal-Mart. Of course, I’ve had two weeks to do this and I decided to choose a day when the kids were out of school and I would have to drag them along. (Thus, the reason I selected Wal-Mart.)

Ethan was fine with this…at first. I told him last night we would be going there, and then we’d go shopping. He understood we were going because I was sick. I. Me. Mommy. NOT him.

As I started to get ready for our outing this morning, Ethan became teary eyed. “Mommy, I’m sorry I get so sad when I have to get a shot.” Hmmmm. What was I missing here?

“Honey, are you afraid you’re going to have to get a shot today?”

“Uh-huh.” Like many autistic children, Ethan suffers from some pretty severe fears. Shots are one of them. (Animals another. Babies, another. Rain, check. P E Class, oh yeah.)

“Sweetie, the doctor isn’t even going to look at you. He’s going to look at me. He’ll check my ears. Take my temperature. Listen to my heart. Then I’ll get some medicine and we’ll go home.”

OK, so I thought we were good to go, and we were. Until we got inside Wal-Mart. The crocodile tears started welling up in his eyes. “Honey, it’s going to be ok.”

We got to the clinic and he went over to the chairs in the waiting area. Then he started WAILING. I just looked at the receptionist, raised my eyebrows and slightly shook my head, then had her hand me the paperwork. Ethan was lying on his tummy across two chairs, boo-hooing with all his might. “Ethan, do you need to go to the bathroom?” I asked. (I’ve already written a blog about our potty issues.”

“NO!” he insisted. This went on for a few minutes while younger sister Abby scolded him: “Eeee-phan! The doctor isn’t even going to see YOU!”

Somehow a comment came out about his ears. The light bulb went off. “Ethan, do your ears hurt?”

“Uh-huh.” We had gone to this clinic a few weeks prior when Ethan had an ear infection.

“Do you think your ears might be infected?”

“Uh-huh.”

OK. I decided while we were there, he would get his ears looked at. “But I don’t want a shot!” he screamed!

“You won’t need a shot,” I assured him.

“But my throat doesn’t hurt!” he cried.

“You won’t need a strep test. I promise,” I replied. (That is another big fear, second only to shots.)

“But I don’t want to be in the room when she checks you. I want her to look at my ears and then go outside.”

“OK.”

For 20 minutes, we waited. For 20 minutes, Ethan laid on his tummy across two chairs and cried, often quite loudly.

Then when we went back, we had the doctor check his ears. They were FINE.

“Ethan, do your ears really hurt?

“No.”

Fortunately, she did not charge for his visit.

I told my mom about this tonight, and I was laughing so hard I could barely talk. She finally asked, “Allison, why are you laughing?”

It was simple. Feeling as yucky as I do and having to endure an episode like this one today – which, sadly, is more common than not – I had to laugh or I would simply go insane.

In Ethan’s defense, he does now seem to have some sort of tummy bug. He was miserable and in tears for a couple of hours after we got home until he finally could not fight it any more and went potty. Since then he’s been my happy, active little sweetheart.