M got very excited the first weekend in December to put up Christmas decorations.
Him: “I love Christmas -- you know that.”
Moi: “I know, I like Christmas too, but it was kind of verboten in my family to put stuff up before Dec 15th. It’s a way of distancing yourself from those crazy people who put their tree up at Thanksgiving.”
Him: “Um, we’re in Ireland -- no one cares about Thanksgiving. Free yourself from past constraints. This is our chance to create our own traditions.”
I ponder this thoughtless assault on my culture (Thanksgiving) and the rather thoughtful suggestion that we create our own family rituals.
Moi: “Fine. If you can find the tree and decorations, then yes, we can put them up.”
Him: “I love Christmas -- you know that.”
Moi: “I know, I like Christmas too, but it was kind of verboten in my family to put stuff up before Dec 15th. It’s a way of distancing yourself from those crazy people who put their tree up at Thanksgiving.”
Him: “Um, we’re in Ireland -- no one cares about Thanksgiving. Free yourself from past constraints. This is our chance to create our own traditions.”
I ponder this thoughtless assault on my culture (Thanksgiving) and the rather thoughtful suggestion that we create our own family rituals.
Moi: “Fine. If you can find the tree and decorations, then yes, we can put them up.”
Thirty
minutes later, he has located (attic) and assembled the tree, the
living room is strewn with Christmas lights and the dogs are intently
sniffing the box of baubles. (Moldy food or mouse droppings, I wonder
worriedly? Neither as it turns out -- assume the shininess of said
baubles has activated a latent canine-magpie gene.)
I suggest, as a nod to my holiday roots, that we put on National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation DVD for “ambiance.” He groans outwardly -- I made him watch for the first time last year and he was unimpressed -- but agrees.
Funny then, how another 30 minutes later, I’m still grappling with the Christmas lights and he’s sitting on the sofa, half-heartedly fiddling with some Christmas ornaments and sticky tape, eyes glued to Chevy Chase on TV.
“Ah, that Clark Griswold, a modern hero...do I have any roll-neck cardigans?”
And so the Christmas division of labor for the remainder of our marriage is established: he gets it down, I put it up. At least we’re clear on that one.
I suggest, as a nod to my holiday roots, that we put on National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation DVD for “ambiance.” He groans outwardly -- I made him watch for the first time last year and he was unimpressed -- but agrees.
Funny then, how another 30 minutes later, I’m still grappling with the Christmas lights and he’s sitting on the sofa, half-heartedly fiddling with some Christmas ornaments and sticky tape, eyes glued to Chevy Chase on TV.
“Ah, that Clark Griswold, a modern hero...do I have any roll-neck cardigans?”
And so the Christmas division of labor for the remainder of our marriage is established: he gets it down, I put it up. At least we’re clear on that one.
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