How to Take Down Your Christmas Tree if You are Kris. . .
▪ Plan to take it down on the 1st of January.
▪ Stop watering it on the 25th of December because you are taking it down on the 1st.
▪ Fail to actually start taking it down until the 6th of January.
▪ Remove all of the ornaments and ¼ of all of the needles from the tree.
▪ Pack ornaments and allow needles to litter the room.
▪ Remove lights and another ¼ of the needles from the tree.
▪ Pack lights and allow needles to litter the room.
▪ Survey the pine-needled room and feel homicidal toward the idiot who allowed this to happen.
▪ Realize the idiot is you.
▪ Send annoying children and annoying dogs outside to play.
▪ Promise husband that there is no water left in the tree stand.
▪ Look at distance between tree and front door and despair about the mess.
▪ Seriously consider trying to stuff largish Christmas tree out of nearby smallish window.
▪ Watch as husband drags tree to front door.
▪ Scream and gesture maniacally about the needles that drop everywhere along this route.
▪ Watch incredulously as engineer husband shoves tree out front door the wrong way.
▪ Insult husband in dulcet tones about his tree-shoving skills.
▪ Wail and gnash teeth as you point out that the tree is now . . . a naked stick.
▪ Kick at the carpet of needles beneath your feet and possibly cry a little.
▪ Listen as husband suggests vacuuming may be required.
▪ Imply husband is an idiot by stating, “You are an idiot.”
▪ Turn and note that the dogs have both peed all over the room.
▪ See the dogs are still outside playing with the girls.
▪ Realize that the tree stand was not actually emptied of water.
▪ Contemplate running away from home.
▪ Clean up the spilled water.
▪ Get out the vacuum.
▪ Empty the vacuum canister, which is chock-full of dirt and pet hair and glitter, into the kitchen garbage can.
▪ Do this job so energetically that you break off the baby lock on the door that keeps the smaller dog from burrowing in this trash.
▪ Decide you will blame the children for this damage.
▪ Vacuum for perhaps 30 seconds.
▪ Jam the vacuum by trying to suck up small branches and mountains of needles.
▪ Curse wildly at the vacuum as you unclog its uncooperative motherfucking hoses.
▪ Curse wildly at husband for suggesting the Shop-Vac may be required.
▪ Sit on the floor and run handfuls of needles through your fingers.
▪ Weep.
▪ Attain new resolve.
▪ Begin to vacuum again.
▪ Startle to the arrival of two muddy-footed joyous dogs, the smaller of which attacks the vacuum like a rabid piranha.
▪ Turn off the vacuum.
▪ Scream at the children who have let the muddy dogs in the house.
▪ Realize children cannot hear you because they are screaming and fighting at the back door.
▪ Scream at the children about how you will not stand for all of this screaming.
▪ Scream at the children about how they have to get themselves under control.
▪ Scream at the children about how they must stop being so dramatic.
▪ Angrily send the children to their rooms until they can learn how to handle small stressors.
▪ Scream at the larger dog.
▪ Send cowering apologetic larger dog back outside.
▪ Scream for smaller dog.
▪ Scream for smaller dog.
▪ Listen for smaller dog.
▪ Yell, “Treat!” while thinking to yourself that the smaller dog is never getting another treat again in his entire fucking life.
▪ Watch as smaller dog bounds out of the unlocked kitchen garbage can to greet you.
▪ Watch as smaller dog tracks dirt and pet hair and glitter all over the kitchen.
▪ Remove large wad of dirty paper towels from smaller dog’s possessive clamped jaws.
▪ Throw smaller dog in back yard.
▪ Taunt confused bouncing smaller dog through the sliding glass door by holding up a container of treats he will never again enjoy.
▪ Open the door just enough to throw only the larger dog a treat.
▪ Taunt smaller dog by shaking treat container.
▪ Close the door.
▪ Watch smaller dog rip portion of treat from larger passive dog’s mouth.
▪ Watch smaller dog excitedly run to middle of yard and poop.
▪ Watch larger dog finish treat and then run to eat the poop.
▪ Regret ever deciding to have dogs.
▪ Clean up the kitchen.
▪ Clean up the muddy dog footprints.
▪ Scream at pleading children that if they are going to act like babies, you will treat them like babies.
▪ Refuse to allow children out of their rooms.
▪ Vacuum pine needles.
▪ Vacuum pine needles.
▪ Vacuum pine needles.
▪ Greet husband’s return from garage with news that the children broke the garbage lock.
▪ Head upstairs to talk with children.
▪ Insist that the children apologize to you for fighting and freaking out.
▪ Refuse to apologize to children when they point out that you freaked out as well.
▪ Leave children in their rooms to contemplate the error of their stubborn ways.
▪ Move boxes of lights and ornaments into garage.
▪ Sigh heavily.
▪ Head back upstairs to apologize to children and accept their apologies.
▪ Walk downstairs with children.
▪ Listen as younger daughter explains that her apology was not sincere.
▪ Listen as older daughter suggests her apology was also false.
▪ Listen as older daughter bemoans the end of the Christmas season.
▪ Listen as older daughter surveys the room and suggests you should have used the Shop-Vac.
▪ Send older daughter back up to her room for this rudeness.
▪ Listen as younger daughter wails that, “Elinor the Christmas tree is dead!”
▪ Inform younger daughter that Elinor was dead the moment we cut her down at the Christmas tree farm.
▪ Listen as wailing escalates.
▪ Imagine that you could have handled that better.
Maybe next year.
People!
I am off to do real-life things that may involve sex!
Or grocery shopping.
We’ll see.
Leave me a comment!
I will be back in a bit to have all the last words.
I always come back.
And I always have all the last words!
Yay!
Seriously . . . leave me a fucking comment.
That is all.
I am back!
Yay!
Told you I would be back.
Silly people.
I always return.
Back 3 hours later? Well I hope you went for the sex then. That seems better than 3 hours of grocery shopping.
Although grocery shopping while having sex sounds interesting.
I’d wobble through the door like “Hai! I’m back from 3 hours at the grocery store… Did I get the things on the list?… Uhhh no… It appears all I got is this half empty bottle of whipped cream.”
There was grocery shopping and there was lunch and there was sex!
Yay!
I love Friday!
Not all Fridays.
But this particular one is awesome!
You are so lucky to have your husband on a Friday afternoon for sex!!
I am super envious.
(Also hoping the sex was with your husband. Solo sex would be okay too though, although not technically sex.)
Husband was involved.
Happy to clear that up.
Silly you.
Afternoon sex is the best. Friday afternoon sex just kicks of the weekend on the right *ahem* foot.
Yes!
Exactly.
I do like to start things off on the right foot.
Snort!
So funny. Loved this post. So glad that my partner and I do not believe in decorating for holidays. I will never have to wrangle a Christmas tree. Happy sighs at that thought!
I cannot imagine doing Christmas without all the decorating.
But I hate to take that shit down and put it away.
Hate it.
I am so glad you giggled!
Yeah, nothing about decorations has ever appealed to me. I think they are usually tacky, ugly, cumbersome and way too time intensive for setting up and getting rid of for my likes. I was lucky enough to find a mate that feels the same way. We haven’t figured out how we’re going to handle holidays with the future kids. I mean, we aren’t Jehovah’s Witnesses or anything. We like holidays just not the kitschy garb that goes along with them. I’m sure we’ll wing it when that day comes.
I love the kitschy garb of the holidays!
I just don’t like the post-holiday strip-down.
Snort!
Bwaahahahahahaaaahahahahaaaaaaaaaa
pause
ahahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaa
wiping tears from eyes.
Yep, I think that covers it for today.
Happy giggly sighs.
I re-read my post when I was out and about and laughed until I cried.
Oh man . . . I love when I make myself laugh.
Always a bonus when other people laugh with me.
But I love when I make myself laugh.
Yay for tears of laughing!
Thanks, babe!
god, i hate taking down the fucking christmas tree. it’s more trouble than it’s worth.
i also hate trying to rip any sort of paper out of my dog’s clamped jaws once he gets ahold of it. what could possibly possess him to think that toilet paper is a fucking delicacy? i guess i shouldn’t expect much from a creature that licks my husband’s troll feet.
OK, ewwwwww on the feet-licking thing.
Is this something your husband encourages?
Ewwww.
Plus also . . .
Troll feet?
Snort!
yes, it is something my husband encourages. he thinks it’s hilarious to watch me freak out and lose my shit. he is an asshole sometimes, but i love him.
Oh my god.
That would totally creep me out.
Totally.
FUNNY! But I’m totally too lazy for all that effort. My fake tree has been decorated since 2006 and I keep it in a big box. Pull it out every year and then put it back in when it’s over – done. Fuck it. ;)
adventuresinestrogen.blogspot.com
For me?
Christmas requires a real tree with all the hassle that a real tree involves.
Yeah.
It wouldn’t be Christmas without tears and screaming.
Snort!
So many appropriate things came through my head when I read that the type of comment you were requesting was a “fucking” comment but I was laughing too hard from this post to think of anything good.
Hope things have calmed down a little bit!
Or maybe I don’t because that means more fun posts like this…hmm…
It was not a good night, but looking back?
It was fucking hilarious.
I love when that happens.
Not the crappy part.
The looking back and laughing part.
Ahem.
I love real trees, but my husband hates them. So as a compromise and to make tree removal easier, we don’t bother taking off the lights. We toss the tree with then and just buy replacements when they are super cheap after the holidays. We’ve even tossed the stand with it once.
OK, this does not sound environmentally correct at ALL.
It sounds fabulous, but shhhhh.
Not green, babe.
And the stand as well?
Snort!
Why in heaven’s name was there no consumption of hard liquor listed up there?
Funny as hell from where I’m sitting, though.
Love you!
I don’t do hard alcohol very well.
And I generally try to hold my single beer until after the girls go to bed.
But yes . . . looking back, there should have been a beer.
Next year, I am going to get it right.
Tipsy would have been better.
Definitely.
Ha! My favorite part: “Taunt confused bouncing smaller dog through the sliding glass door by holding up a container of treats he will never again enjoy.”
So hilarious.
It probably would have gone exactly the same way at my house if we’d had a real tree, minus the husband & the dogs… oh, except for at the end, it would have been “everyone pretends like nothing out of the ordinary occurred and no one bothered with apologies because nobody would have meant them anyway” – haha!
Stupid fucking dog.
I am so happy you laughed at my pain.
If there has to be pain? There should be laughter later to make up for it.
So yay!
And the girls never did offer sincere apologies, just so you know.
They so did not.
Acted like it was all my fault that things went to hell.
Annoying.
your post = hilariousness. You actually having to live that = suckville. Which apparently your vacuum needed to be doing more of!
This made my episode this morning of a maniacally screaming toddler while i shop for clothes in the plus size section for the first time in my life seem less dramatic- which is a good thing.
Maybe next years Elinor will be nicer to you :0/
My vacuum is awesome, but not intended to suck up mountains of pine needles and small branches.
Apparently.
Mark says next year we can just bring a chipper into the house and reduce Elinor to a pile of sawdust in the privacy of our living room.
There is just nothing that can go wrong with that genius plan.
What?
Kris,
Well, I was planning to have junior remove the lethal, dry, sticky, fire hazard Christmas tree with flesh-ripping needles of painful death when he returns from his trip tomorrow.
But since you have such a great removal system – which you should seriously consider franchising – I was thinking you and the dogs could come to New Zilland and…
Bring the Shop-Vac. I’ve got the Whac-a-Mole.
Bill
Bill -
Sigh.
And just so you know? If I did not know you better? I would interpret your closing statement to be a sexual overture of some sort.
Bring the Shop-Vac . . . I’ve got the Whac-a-Mole?
Come on, Bill.
Seriously.
You want me.
Snort!
Kris
It seems like any attempt I make lately to accomplish anything pretty much turns out similarly, only includes a toddler wailing at highest volume possible that she wants her mommy as I stand in front of her. Yes, my toddler. Screaming at me that she wants her mommy. we’re going through one helluva fun phase around here, let me tell you what.
Oh my god . . .
Kallan did that to me a few times!
Out in public! Smallish beautiful girl screaming at me that I am not allowed to hit her. That she is going to tell her mommy on me. That I am going to be in big trouble.
Just to be clear? Kallan’s mommy?
That would be me.
And Kallan’s mommy has never hit her. Not one time.
So annoying, that girl.
So annoying.
I thought this blog was supposed to be humorous, rather than a fairly accurate recitation of my efforts (unsuccessful so far: probably half a box of ornaments left) to take down my tree. Since you polished yours off so quickly and efficiently, LOL, how about lending a hand?
Nope.
I am spent.
Completely spent.
No hands to be lent.
Spent.
Also?
I am all rhymey.
Well that’s just ducky,
You’re pooped and I’m unlucky.
Believe me, it’s no fun
but I’ll work til it’s done.
TaDah!
I am not a poet.
So fuck it.
This may have been an accurate rendition of the taking down of the Christmas tree in my house EXCEPT I had house guests. One day I came home from work and it was down, ornaments removed and placed back in the boxes, put outside, and needles cleaned up.
They were the best house guests ever.
WHO WERE THESE HOUSEGUESTS?
I want them.
Seriously.
It was my brother in law and his wife. They stayed for 3 weeks, visiting from South Africa.
They also cleaned my house.
To be fair though, they rarely have to do stuff like that themselves, pretty much everyone has housekeepers in South Africa.
OK, that’s it.
I am moving to South Africa.
Why at no point did a controlled substance become involved?
I know.
You are not the first to mention this failure.
It honestly did not occur to me in the moment that a beer would help.
Sigh.
It so would have helped.
The not-entirely-controlled substances wouldn’t need mention. However in this case, I’m assuming it wouldn’t have been such a painfull experience if they had been present.
I do recommend consumption of mass quantities of Costco beer next time you undertake this sort of task
I have a keg downstairs.
I am an idiot.
Apparently.