I have a story to tell.
Let's see. I believe it was my son's second Christmas, and our third year in our house. I was determined to have a great Christmas. We decided to get a real tree. One of those with the root balls, so we could plant it afterward.
The tree my husband picked out was only five feet (he told me over the phone). I was angry, at first. Five feet? I wasn't looking for a midget tree.
When he brought it home, I understood why. A five foot pine tree with a root ball is a big mama jama. I had no qualms laughing as I watched him drag it through the house. Unless you have a tow motor handy, you can't really get any bigger than five feet. (I knew this, since years before my mother decided to do the same, only we couldn't get the spruce tree through her front door. Her tree was more like seven feet. We ended up planting it right beside the front porch. No joke.)
Anyway, my husband and I set up our midget pine tree. I decorated it, watered it, loved it, blah, blah, blah. Everything was good. Except for the fact that I was taller than the tree. It's bad when I'm taller than something.
So, over the course of weeks, I swept up pesky dried pine needles and dirt. How this come to be, I do not know. Mystery of the universe.
About a week before Christmas, I noticed there were dead bugs everywhere. They looked like a hybrid of mosquitoes and gnats. WTF? Alright, so I just swept them up a long with pine needles and dirt. Everyday.
One day, I noticed one was moving weakly. I remember thinking, why do I have to keep sweeping up dying bugs? I do not know why my brain did not process this properly. My only guess would be the holidays are stressful, and I didn't want to think about where they are coming from. My subconscious did not want my son's Christmas ruined.
On Christmas Eve, we did the family thing away from home. When we got home my brain was fuzzied from wine. I put my son down to sleep hoping he is dreaming of candy canes and Santa Clause.
That is when my husband noticed the bugs on the floor. Our conversation is a little fuzzy, but I told him that I had been sweeping up dying bugs all week. Even though, most of them on the floor looked like they were getting ready to take flight.
That is when my alcohol induced brain figured it out. It was the midget tree. Our warm house had been waking up dormant unidentified bugs, and they were getting ready to attack in droves.
What did we do about it? If I hadn't been drunk, I would have panicked, but I didn't. We opened another bottle of wine. That's what we did. I undecorated the tree, not flinching when I found my ornaments were covered in sap.
We laughed as we both had to drag the tree out of the back door.
We stayed cool, calm, and collected as we got out our artificial tree. I fluffed and trimmed it. Swept up left over glitter, pine needles, dirt, and reanimating bugs. We even had some more wine and Santa's cookies whilst we played Santa with our son's gifts.
The next morning I felt good about my son. He didn't even notice the different tree. And me? I was a kick-ass zombie bug exterminator. And the midget tree?
Four years later, it still lives standing at about 9 ft. tall.
I should note that I have nothing against midgets. I am one. Proud member of the Lollipop Guild. That's me.