The Christmas Miracle or How I Lied to My Wife
Let's be honest, Christmas is a huge pain in the ass. Yes, there is the love and the family and the opportunity to look back over the past year and see that things are going well / could be worse / will get better next year / pass the bottle of Wild Turkey. But the preparations for that magnificent moment are what weigh down on me. Lights on the house. Decorations. Lying about certain guys in red suits. Shopping. And getting the tree.
The tree.
When I was a kid, we’d drive out to the local tree farm and search though an acre of land to find the “perfect” tree. Dad would use his arm span to determine the tree height, width, its mass and amount of drag it would cause on the top of the car. We’d all take turns at a few saw cuts on the base before we’d notice that the tree trunk was outrageously crooked and then we’d repeat the whole process at the “almost perfect” tree right next to the first. Timber! We would then drag the tree through the grass and mud wishing there was snow. With a combination of twine and string and rope, we’d fasten the tree to the car through the backseat windows and dad would have us get in the front doors and clamber over the seat to get into the back. (Do not carry the saw with you as you flop over the seats!) The way home had father using a combination of slight steering adjustments, even slighter breaking and drafting to keep the tree from falling off the roof.
Nowadays, the wife and I go to a tree lot. We found a place that has a good selection and reasonable pricing. My four year old, Greg, likes to play hide and seek in the fake forest. Last year it wasn’t hide and seek but rather “Greg won’t answer when mom calls frantically for him for five minutes.” We found a tree rather quickly this year and Sally had to stand next to it while Greg and I snuck through the forest. Once we paid for the tree, the three guys smoking cigarettes by the fire pit simultaneously cut off the bottom, trimmed back branches on the trunk to exactly 8” and tied the tree to the roof of the van (sadly, not through the windows.)
We got home and set the tree up. I let it acclimate to our home’s particular temperature and humidity (or let it “fall” as dad calls it.) I got through attaching the first series of bulbs to the very top of the tree before Miss Sally inquired if I had tested the lights first. I hadn’t, which made 1/3rd of them immediately not work when I did plug them in. That aside, all else went well. As we trimmed it, Greg stuck his army men in the branches. I watered the tree and we all went to bed.
The next morning I tried to add more water to the tree, but only soaked the carpet when the base overflowed from the very first bit of water poured in. I stuck my hand in… it was still full. Miss Sally said she had not filled it which meant the tree was not taking water. We decided to wait to see what would happen that night.
The water was still there except for the tiny bit that the cat might have drank out of it. I went to bed with images of spontaneous combustion and cats on fire running through my head. The next morning, Miss Sally said she had not slept a wink, not because of our children dying in a tree induced fire, but because she thought all the needles were going to fall off and the tree would look like a barren twig by Christmas. It was time for drastic measures. So I ran to the internet.
My search revealed a suggestion that you can attempt to tip the tree, cut an additional inch or two off and reset it, hoping for the best. We laid down towels and blankets, set the tree down with army men falling to their deaths. I cut off two inches just to be sure and we set the tree back up without loss of a single Christmas ornament. I re-filled the base with water and we waited. I thought I could hear the tree slurping up the water. I thought.
Hours later, right before bed, the water level was still the same. I then made a decision to lie. Miss Sally would get a good night sleep this night! I went into the kitchen and told Sally that the tree was taking the water and that I was going to re-fill it. She was relieved. I fake filled it and we went to bed. Sally slept.
That next morning, I shared my evil plan with my friend John. I would siphon water out of the base with a turkey baster and re-fill the base with watering help from Greg, adding to the lie and making him an unknowing accomplice. John simplified my plan when he suggested that I just tell Sally that I was filling the base in the mornings after she left for work. Genius.
This evening, I went to fake fill the base. As I ran the water for a minute, but only filled the container with only a cup of water, I began to feel guilty. But that only lasted a few seconds and I ran to top off the water in the tree base.
And that is when the Christmas miracle happened! The base was empty! The tree was drinking the water! I stuck my hand way down into the bottom and there was just a bit of water left. I went back to the sink, filled the container and topped off the base, this time for real.
At dinner, I confessed my sins to Miss Sally. I came clean about everything. I said that I was doing it all for her. I said it was a Christmas miracle.
She asked me what else I was lying about.
Tonight, as I sleep on the couch, I’ll be able to see the glow of the Christmas lights in the family room.
Unless that’s the glow of a cat on fire.
The tree.
When I was a kid, we’d drive out to the local tree farm and search though an acre of land to find the “perfect” tree. Dad would use his arm span to determine the tree height, width, its mass and amount of drag it would cause on the top of the car. We’d all take turns at a few saw cuts on the base before we’d notice that the tree trunk was outrageously crooked and then we’d repeat the whole process at the “almost perfect” tree right next to the first. Timber! We would then drag the tree through the grass and mud wishing there was snow. With a combination of twine and string and rope, we’d fasten the tree to the car through the backseat windows and dad would have us get in the front doors and clamber over the seat to get into the back. (Do not carry the saw with you as you flop over the seats!) The way home had father using a combination of slight steering adjustments, even slighter breaking and drafting to keep the tree from falling off the roof.
Nowadays, the wife and I go to a tree lot. We found a place that has a good selection and reasonable pricing. My four year old, Greg, likes to play hide and seek in the fake forest. Last year it wasn’t hide and seek but rather “Greg won’t answer when mom calls frantically for him for five minutes.” We found a tree rather quickly this year and Sally had to stand next to it while Greg and I snuck through the forest. Once we paid for the tree, the three guys smoking cigarettes by the fire pit simultaneously cut off the bottom, trimmed back branches on the trunk to exactly 8” and tied the tree to the roof of the van (sadly, not through the windows.)
We got home and set the tree up. I let it acclimate to our home’s particular temperature and humidity (or let it “fall” as dad calls it.) I got through attaching the first series of bulbs to the very top of the tree before Miss Sally inquired if I had tested the lights first. I hadn’t, which made 1/3rd of them immediately not work when I did plug them in. That aside, all else went well. As we trimmed it, Greg stuck his army men in the branches. I watered the tree and we all went to bed.
The next morning I tried to add more water to the tree, but only soaked the carpet when the base overflowed from the very first bit of water poured in. I stuck my hand in… it was still full. Miss Sally said she had not filled it which meant the tree was not taking water. We decided to wait to see what would happen that night.
The water was still there except for the tiny bit that the cat might have drank out of it. I went to bed with images of spontaneous combustion and cats on fire running through my head. The next morning, Miss Sally said she had not slept a wink, not because of our children dying in a tree induced fire, but because she thought all the needles were going to fall off and the tree would look like a barren twig by Christmas. It was time for drastic measures. So I ran to the internet.
My search revealed a suggestion that you can attempt to tip the tree, cut an additional inch or two off and reset it, hoping for the best. We laid down towels and blankets, set the tree down with army men falling to their deaths. I cut off two inches just to be sure and we set the tree back up without loss of a single Christmas ornament. I re-filled the base with water and we waited. I thought I could hear the tree slurping up the water. I thought.
Hours later, right before bed, the water level was still the same. I then made a decision to lie. Miss Sally would get a good night sleep this night! I went into the kitchen and told Sally that the tree was taking the water and that I was going to re-fill it. She was relieved. I fake filled it and we went to bed. Sally slept.
That next morning, I shared my evil plan with my friend John. I would siphon water out of the base with a turkey baster and re-fill the base with watering help from Greg, adding to the lie and making him an unknowing accomplice. John simplified my plan when he suggested that I just tell Sally that I was filling the base in the mornings after she left for work. Genius.
This evening, I went to fake fill the base. As I ran the water for a minute, but only filled the container with only a cup of water, I began to feel guilty. But that only lasted a few seconds and I ran to top off the water in the tree base.
And that is when the Christmas miracle happened! The base was empty! The tree was drinking the water! I stuck my hand way down into the bottom and there was just a bit of water left. I went back to the sink, filled the container and topped off the base, this time for real.
At dinner, I confessed my sins to Miss Sally. I came clean about everything. I said that I was doing it all for her. I said it was a Christmas miracle.
She asked me what else I was lying about.
Tonight, as I sleep on the couch, I’ll be able to see the glow of the Christmas lights in the family room.
Unless that’s the glow of a cat on fire.
Words and Phrases You Should Hate
Here is a list of common words and phrases I cannot stand. See if your hated verbiage is in the list!
Meh
This word completely pisses me off. Perhaps it is how falls out of the mouth with such disdain. Or that it is one of the few words in which you don’t use your tongue to pronounce. Most of all, it’s the compression of so much indifference that is crammed into a three letter word. People use it to replace pages of text and explanation. It’s like saying, “I don’t care about you or your opinion enough to reply with anything but a monosyllabic, muted yelp." On top of all that, I'm compelled to say it out loud whenever I read it. Meh. Yuck.
You’ve got your work cut out for you
Who thought of this crappy phrase? It’s ass backwards. The phrase is supposed to mean that you have a tough job ahead with a lot of pain and suffering sprinkled on top. I think most people understand it as such when reading or hearing it. But what I don’t get is that if your work is all ready cut out for you, the first step would be done and you’d be that much closer to completing your task. What would be a lot of work is if you had to cut the work out yourself and then do it. I guess that phrase would be, “You’ve got your work to cut out.” Now that I’ve written it, I’m not so pleased with that one either.
Don’t go there
This phrase has crossed ethnic boundaries and become popular with whitey which has caused it to fail. A lot of times you will see this phrase accentuated with "uh-huh" and "girl" and various closed mouth noises and finger wagging. By saying "Don't go there" you are admitting guilt of having been "there" and of doing something embarrassing while "there." Just don’t go there.
Absolutely
This word is used too often and people don’t really know its true power. Absolutely is a commanding word with no ifs ands or buts. It should be used with caution. If someone responds “absolutely” to your question, you should feel empowered and take them up on it. I get it a lot when asking to speak to someone over the phone. “Can I please speak with Mr. Jones?” “Absolutely.” At that moment, I am thusly sanctioned to let Mr. Jones hear what ever I want to tell him about my kids or my thoughts on how he’s running his company into the ground. Next time someone says “absolutely” to you, clarify that is what they said and then have at it.
Pwned
I simply don’t like this word because I never get to use it. I am the one who get his ass handed to him in games and arguments. I suck.
Couple
I don’t blame anyone but myself for this one. For years, I thought that “a couple” could mean two or three or four. The dictionary might say that the informal definition is “a few; several: a couple of days,” but 98% of the world has corrected me. One co-worker solidified her stance with the well known Ohio phrase “a couple three” which when uttered can be used to describe how much beer to pick up. “Since Tommy’s bringing his kids, you might ‘unt to pick up a couple three cases of Pabst.”
Awesome
Unless it’s said by a stoner guy, awesome grates on my nerves. NASA seems to over use it to describe stuff in space. If it’s a stone guy describing stuff in space, I’m 50/50.
Top Ten
I dislike top ten, mainly because you can guarantee that the list is faulty or open to debate. The only Top Ten list I ever saw that was even close to being dead on was Yang Sma's Top Ten List of molds, spores and fungi. He pretty much nailed that one.
Blog
Christ. Blog is such an overly fanciful word. Only because it describes what I am doing now. And what the annoying stay at home mom across the street is doing. And most twelve year olds. I hate that the outlet for my brilliance is described in the same way as the writings of Lisa’s two cats or Bob’s internal struggle with coming out of the closet. Someone needs to come up with a new word so that I can move on.
Git r done
Without question, the worst phrase ever uttered, right after “The stripper you knocked up is talking to your wife about the venereal disease she gave you.”
Meh
This word completely pisses me off. Perhaps it is how falls out of the mouth with such disdain. Or that it is one of the few words in which you don’t use your tongue to pronounce. Most of all, it’s the compression of so much indifference that is crammed into a three letter word. People use it to replace pages of text and explanation. It’s like saying, “I don’t care about you or your opinion enough to reply with anything but a monosyllabic, muted yelp." On top of all that, I'm compelled to say it out loud whenever I read it. Meh. Yuck.
You’ve got your work cut out for you
Who thought of this crappy phrase? It’s ass backwards. The phrase is supposed to mean that you have a tough job ahead with a lot of pain and suffering sprinkled on top. I think most people understand it as such when reading or hearing it. But what I don’t get is that if your work is all ready cut out for you, the first step would be done and you’d be that much closer to completing your task. What would be a lot of work is if you had to cut the work out yourself and then do it. I guess that phrase would be, “You’ve got your work to cut out.” Now that I’ve written it, I’m not so pleased with that one either.
Don’t go there
This phrase has crossed ethnic boundaries and become popular with whitey which has caused it to fail. A lot of times you will see this phrase accentuated with "uh-huh" and "girl" and various closed mouth noises and finger wagging. By saying "Don't go there" you are admitting guilt of having been "there" and of doing something embarrassing while "there." Just don’t go there.
Absolutely
This word is used too often and people don’t really know its true power. Absolutely is a commanding word with no ifs ands or buts. It should be used with caution. If someone responds “absolutely” to your question, you should feel empowered and take them up on it. I get it a lot when asking to speak to someone over the phone. “Can I please speak with Mr. Jones?” “Absolutely.” At that moment, I am thusly sanctioned to let Mr. Jones hear what ever I want to tell him about my kids or my thoughts on how he’s running his company into the ground. Next time someone says “absolutely” to you, clarify that is what they said and then have at it.
Pwned
I simply don’t like this word because I never get to use it. I am the one who get his ass handed to him in games and arguments. I suck.
Couple
I don’t blame anyone but myself for this one. For years, I thought that “a couple” could mean two or three or four. The dictionary might say that the informal definition is “a few; several: a couple of days,” but 98% of the world has corrected me. One co-worker solidified her stance with the well known Ohio phrase “a couple three” which when uttered can be used to describe how much beer to pick up. “Since Tommy’s bringing his kids, you might ‘unt to pick up a couple three cases of Pabst.”
Awesome
Unless it’s said by a stoner guy, awesome grates on my nerves. NASA seems to over use it to describe stuff in space. If it’s a stone guy describing stuff in space, I’m 50/50.
Top Ten
I dislike top ten, mainly because you can guarantee that the list is faulty or open to debate. The only Top Ten list I ever saw that was even close to being dead on was Yang Sma's Top Ten List of molds, spores and fungi. He pretty much nailed that one.
Blog
Christ. Blog is such an overly fanciful word. Only because it describes what I am doing now. And what the annoying stay at home mom across the street is doing. And most twelve year olds. I hate that the outlet for my brilliance is described in the same way as the writings of Lisa’s two cats or Bob’s internal struggle with coming out of the closet. Someone needs to come up with a new word so that I can move on.
Git r done
Without question, the worst phrase ever uttered, right after “The stripper you knocked up is talking to your wife about the venereal disease she gave you.”
Skully's - 80's night
Here is a clip from a local magazine called Columbus Alive! They did a story on Skully's Ladies' 80's night and it included a photo of Meshell and Jamie.
Now you can see why we go.
Napkin Bet
Conny was in town for a few days and we had a few drinks at Byrne's Pub.
During our conversation, he suggested that Ohio State was going to get beat by 14 points in the Championship Game.
So we each bet. Ten bucks if each person's team wins outright. Twenty if the team wins by 14 points.
We drew it up on a napkin. Looks like a logic problem. I like our signatures though.
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