This truly is the most wonderful time of the year. I’ve felt that way since my childhood. I often joke I grew up in a Norman Rockwell painting, but I’m only half kidding. Did our family have it’s quirks? Sure. But did I ever, even for a second, question whether I was loved and safe? Not once. Without question, the most special times growing up were Christmas. I realize now what made them special was tireless hours and days of work on my parents’ part. Our house was always a holiday wonderland filled with every imaginable baked treat, a beautiful tree, and enough presents to fill Santa’s workshop. And every morning from Thanksgiving to Christmas, I was awakened by the warm, comforting sounds of my mom working in the kitchen, accompanied by Jim Reeves or Tennessee Ernie Ford or The Ray Conniff Singers on our stereo, a brown behemoth approximately the size and weight of a Volkswagen Beetle.

As a result of that upbringing, I’ve always felt warmly about Christmas. There was a Christmas when my first marriage was finishing its death spiral and my mom was in the hospital after having had a stroke that Christmas just didn’t happen. I was living at my parents’ house, partly because I was helping Dad care for Mom as she was starting down the treacherous path of Alzheimer’s, but also partly because I needed a place to stay until I got on my feet emotionally. So, when Mom’s stroke came along, Christmas didn’t just get pushed to the back burner–it got thrown out.

But the next year, all the magical Christmases I thought I’d experienced became paled in comparison with the true enchantment that was my first Christmas with Sarah and her daughter Lauren. I mean, not really with them in the sense of waking up together as a family, but, despite that fact she and I had only met less than two months previous, we were completely in love and knew we were going to be married. Heck, though we didn’t say it to each other at the time, we both knew that on our second date. So, Christmases have been better each year since.

This year is no exception, thought it did get off to to a bit of a rocky start. We didn’t have a fight or anything. In fact, we all three were having a great Thanksgiving week. Sarah and I are still just plain mad about each other and I feel like my relationship with Lauren is getting better and better. So we went out Friday after Thanksgiving to pick a tree. It was beautiful, with no flaws. It literally didn’t matter how we turned it, as there was no side that needed hidden in the corner. When we got it home, I put it in our stand, which was one of those that has a foot pedal so it can be straightened. But we noticed it wanted to move even when the pedal was pushed in. The tree was already up and in the house with water in the reservoir, so what do I do? You guessed it–I did what any red-blooded American male would do and slathered that sucker with Gorilla Tape.

Everything was great. We got up the next day to a still-vertical tree. I put on the star and strung the lights, which meant my part of the job was over, so I zipped outside to fire up my blower and send the approximately eleventy billion leaves that had gathered there since the last time they’d been cleaned away, which was not a week before. This is the price you pay for living on a quaint tree-lined tree in Americanaville like we do. It’s definitely worth it, especially since running a blower is just way more fun than it should be. Definitely my favorite yard work implement, and there’s no close second in that none of the rest are actually fun at all.

I was about halfway finished with the job, thinking, and I’m not making this up, that we were going to break a record for the quickest we ever had our decorations up. And this was extra exciting because Sarah and I had a date planned for that night, and it looked like we would have plenty of time to rest up and get ready. That’s when the front door opened and Lauren, barefoot, came marching out with a look on her face that told me I’d be better off not turning off the blower. But I knew I had to. Somehow I knew as I turned the knob to off what words were going to come out of her mouth. “The tree fell over!”

I ran inside to find what looked like Christmas at ground zero. The tree looked like it had had several too many at the office Christmas party and had not only passed out, but had wet himself to boot. I stood for a few seconds, taking in the carnage as Sarah and Lauren lamented that Lauren had been about two ornaments shy of being finished when it went timber. We were devastated. I felt like a jerk for trying to get away with using the lazy man’s best friend. I waited for the two of them to say I told you so, but it never came. They were both generous and good-humored about it, which somehow made me feel even guiltier. We worked together to get her up and propped into the corner to find that, while the lights were a mangled, tangled mess, there was amazingly little carnage done to the ornaments. Nearly no breakage, and what little there was just needed a quick shot of glue.

So I left the ladies to wipe up the water and begin the process of pulling the lights off the tree while I went to our local home improvement store, whose name rhymes with slows to pick up the biggest, baddest, heaviest dutiest tree stand you ever saw. This thing would withstand a small thermonuclear blast, as it was made with welded steel and weighed upwards of half a ton. And the best part was the Medieval-looking steel spikes in the bottom of it on which to impale the bottom of the tree to immobilize it while I screwed in the bolts, which looked like axles off a small truck. That process complete, I stood it back up and gave it a good pull. It felt as steady as before they’d cut it down on the farm. So all we had to do was everything we’d just done once. Not going to lie–the second time I put the lights on, I was a little less diligent about placing them just so. But they turned out nicely because Lauren went behind me and fixed them. Once they were on, I was back outside to finish my leaf-blowing while Lauren, not really known for her persistence in finishing a task, put every single ornament back on that tree. And it looks amazing.

We didn’t have much time to spare, but we made it on our date. Not a cross word was said all day, despite a tree disaster I hope we never experience again. I’m so proud of these women in my life. They killed it.

PS–I should say something about Sarah, for I fear it sounds like she didn’t really help much with the tree. To be fair, she didn’t, but that’s because she breaks out in hives when she touches a live tree too much. So her contribution was to decorate every single inch of our house while Lauren and I decorated the tree and decorated the tree again. The place looks amazing, like something out of a catalog. I’m fully aware I married several notches out of my league, but she already said, “I do”, so I’m not letting her go.