305. Tree and all

'What?'

Did I hear right? 

'Mum, you heard me right. I've bought the flight there but not te flight back yet. I'll get that next month when I get paid.'

'But ... but ... when ... if ... '

I do not have anything sensible nor reasonable to reply. So I let go.

'OK. Nice. ... Just don't forget to book your return. You know, it does matter.'

I am not sure why it matters but I need to think of a reason.

'Because I do not want to be the one responsible for moving all your stuff out of your flat.'

I say this in a firm tone of voice, a purposeful tone of voice. I get a sigh at the other end.

So we have Christmas all of us together. It does feel like a rushed thing because I am in the middle of redecorating the dining room and I have not got the tree and I have not got anything to flambé on the day.

'Standards are dropping.' Miss Muddy Boots is clearly disappointed. 

My husband goes and buys the Christmas tree without any prompts from me - which means the situations completely out of hands. He comes back triumphant.

'Look! 50% off! It's great to be so late at buying the tree!'

I look at the thing. It is smaller than usual but it looks good and anyway I am not in a position to comment.

'You could have saved more money by not buying the stand. We do have a stand.'

As I am saying this I know that locating the stand is the problem. Some years we do not even find it and have to improvise so that is why I am saying this in a casual manner.

'I didn't get a stand.'

I peer under the tree as Baby and Muddy Boots set it up.

'It's alive!' I scream.

'You bought a real tree! One that will keep growing!'

'Oh yeah! That's a tree in a proper pot.' Baby and Muddy Boots are on all fours peering under the tree to check. 

I have visions of us being so late at getting rid of the tree that it cannot get through the door and we have to get a chainsaw in the house to cut it up.

'Just don't water it.' I say.

'Mum! We need to water it and then it won't lose all its needles before Christmas day like the one last year. ... And then we'll put it in the garden.'

'No way! The our tiny garden will look like the town square! No.'

The tree is up. It is staring at me as if it knows I want it dead. I am sure it has already grown a couple of centimetres ... I cannot face the decorating. I call my son.

He comes down, utterly puzzled at why his mum wants help to do the tree. Up to now I was always insisting in decorating the tree on my own. Because decorations were too fragile and because no one had an eye quite like mine to avoid having just a bunch of piled up decorations all in the middle and all within reach.

'What's up? I mean it is smaller than usual.'

I cannot explain and so I do the tree with my clumsy son who has has absolutely no idea about what a lovely tree is. He is like his father that way: if the tree is green and if it has a couple of lights flickering then it is a perfect tree.

'Put that thing up there, please. And watch you tie it on properly. it breaks.'

As I say this I knock a glass ornament and it shatters on the ground in a thousand glass shards. I am about to moan and yell something.

'It was ugly anyway.' My son says. Is this a comment on the aesthetics of the thing? I think he might be.

'I mean who wants a sparkly glassy thingy Eiffel Tower in their tree?'

I say nothing to this. We need to rush. I plug the light on and think the tree looks wonderful. My son thinks so too.

We will rush through everything else, buying all the presents at the very last minute, all the food and drinks too and Miss Organiser will pack at the last minute and get her return at the last minute and we will have a great Christmas together playing some stupid games till late into the night with the four of them screaming and shouting so loud that the whole street must know they are all back home for Christmas.