You see what had happened was…
Ah, the holidays. The decorations all over town, the smells of fresh baked goods. People packed into the malls fighting over the last Tickle Me Elmo, the dodgey hung over Santa in the creepy little house who may or may not be groping your kids. There was a time in my life when the holidays filled me with anxiety and fear, and not for any of those reasons. I always looked forward to the family visits, the feasts, and the gifts, but the thought of a christmas tree, and the smell of eggnog , brought on such a panic, that I would break out in a sweat at the slightest mention of either of those two items. Let me tell you how Eggnog completely ruined my childhood…
It has always a tradition in my family, to load up the truck with a basket full of hot chocolate, cookies, eggnog and burritos (we’re mexican, it wouldn’t be right if we didn’t throw taco or a burrito or a chalupa in there somewhere). My Mom, my stepdad, my youngest sister, my cousin manuel, my cousin chrystal, and my dog Porkchop, and I would all ride to the 7-11 near the outskirts of town, buy a tree cutting permit, and head into the woods to cut down our own tree. I am not sure when or why this tradition was started. I know it was something my mom started, and it just sort of continued until this very day. Maybe because it was fun and festive, maybe because it was an opportunity for us to bond while sledding and enjoying our basket of treats. No one enjoyed our treat basket more than my mom. It always started out so innocently. We would all find a place near the sledding hill to scout out our tree, park the truck, and everyone except my mom would head into the woods to park the tree.
Now, before I go any further with this story I want everyone to understand I have the utmost respect for my mom. She is a totally different person than she was in some of the stories you will read here or on my personal blog . She knows I write them, and we reflect and laugh about how ridiculous the two of us have been in the past. No worries y’all. Ma is all good with it.
So there we are, the 6 of us, Porkchop included trudging through the snow to find the ‘perfect tree’. It was always a messy mission, there was almost always tears(me), Bloodshed (my cousin Manuel cutting himself with the hacksaw) and screaming( my stepdad at all of us for being incompetent logging disappointments once again), but we always had the best damn looking tree on the block…at first.
By the time we had returned with they tree, Ma usually had the snacks laid out hot chocolate, cookies, brownies, some of mom’s homemade egg, cheese, and sausage burritos and of course, Ma’s Eggnog. Im sure that by the time us kids had a little food in our bellies and began our super sledding extravaganza, my mom had probably had already had 2 eggnogs. She was happy, laughing, petting the dog and even sledding a little. Once the snacks were gone and the sledding was over it was time to head home and decorate the tree.
This too was always a process. My aunts were always waiting back at the house preparing a feast.’ Getting The Tree Day’ had somehow turned into a holiday in itself that was nearly as big as Christmas Eve/Christmas itself. Just like the sledding and tree cutting, this process begins very innocently…putting up the tree, stringing the lights. There was always music playing in the background, food being passed around, and of course…that god forsaken Eggnog. I hate that stuff.
Ma would run around in her fluffy red apron, sipping eggnog and trying to look busy. She would chop an onion here, hang an ornament there, wrap a small gift…but mostly what she was doing was chugging that goddamned eggnog and laughing at jokes that only she could understand. Once the tree was done, it was all over. Ma was usually drunk by then and insisting that my Stepdad dance to Scorpion with her.
Here I am.
My stepdad was mexican, and he hated what he liked to call “The gringo’s devil-hair music” , so naturally, the last thing he wanted to do was dance with my mom to the devil music, especially because by now, most of the family was over eating and baking together and trying to get in the christmas spirit, but my Ma was 3 sheets to the wind.
He was not given a choice in the matter. She would tell everyone how “lame they were” and how “None of you suckers know how to have any fun!” which turned into “fine, I don’t want you guys to dance with me anyways…you guys don’t even know how and you will just embarrass yourselves”…so she would dance and we would all watch…
My mom was doing some crazy dance that looked kind of like this:
At this point my Stepdad would simply step back and watch the magic happen…And happen it did. Every year, no matter what..like clockwork, on ‘Getting the Tree Day’, my Ma would never eat enough food, drink entirely too much eggnog, dance around like Chris Farley on crack, accuse everyone on and then fall on the newly decorated christmas tree.
And every year, being the awkward mess that I am, I would instantly come down with a case of secondary embarrassment and grab Porkchop, run and hide under my bed until they had fixed the tree and cleaned my mom up and put her to bed. There was always the inevitable eggnog puke to be dealt with as well.
When my mom got sober, she no longer fell on the tree. We still went to pick the tree out, we still went sledding and had a feast and it became, much later in life for me, a generally pleasant experience. But even still, many years after she stopped falling on the tree, and puking up eggnog, the sight of a tree and the smell of eggnog sent me into a sweaty panic that had me looking for my yellow Lab, and a bed to hide under.
Little did I know, that once I was older, I would carry on the tradition myself… I lived alone last year, well alone with my son. He and I went to go pick up a tree from a guy down the road. We listened to music, made food, decorated it, and once he went to bed, I decided to have a little champagne…My version of eggnog. After a bottle of Cordon Rouge Mumm Napa, I decided to do a little dancing myself…I had no one to yell at, but I found I could adequately get my groove on with no one around to see me. Some how, some way…I ended up under the Christmas tree:
How does this keep happening to me?
I didn’t fall on the tree, the tree fell on me. I didn’t vomit up eggnog, but I did manage to have the tree fall on me 2 more times that evening after I put it back up. Thank god my son never woke up to see that.
I don’t have a tree this year. I also don’t drink alcohol anymore, but I am sure that somehow that tree would find itself on top of me. I wasn’t willing to take that risk this year. No more eggnog and champagne for this girl..This year my man and I are doing a Christmas BBQ on the beach with his family. I just hope there are not Palm trees looking to get fresh.
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