A beautiful Christmas story...perhaps...

So...

It's almost Christmas.

As of Friday night, sadly and pathetically we didn't have our tree up yet. In years past I have put up as many as three Christmas trees (during one particularly obsessive year I actually did four...sigh) but for the past several holidays we've cut back to a single tree.

It's artificial.

Don't be a hater. We live in Arizona. Real trees cost about a gazillion dollars here and I think they're bad for the environment or something. I am all about saving the environment at Christmas, aren't you?

OK, OK. I'll tell the truth. It has nothing to do with the environment and I'm pretty sure trees don't cost a gazillion dollars here. It's just that I've gotten lazy in my old age. There! Happy now?

On Saturday, Mr. Jenny volunteered to put the tree up. I didn't nag. Really. I didn't whine. Seriously.

And I really, truly wasn't trying to manipulate him on Friday night when I told him that when our Granddaughters had arrived at the house after an early release from school on Friday, they had run frantically from room to room. I wasn't sure what was happening until the middle one said, "OK Grandma! We give up! Where did you hide the tree?" Describing the shocked look on her face when I'd had to inform her that it wasn't up yet might have been the catalyst for Mr. Jenny's kind offer.

On Saturday morning, there was hardly any swearing in the living room and after only a few thumps and bumps he came into my office and proudly ushered me out to see his work.

The only problem was he had put up the wrong tree.

The tall, skinny tree purchased for the high ceilings of the living room did not fit comfortably into the lower ceilinged family room.


BUT...

Mindful of the fact that some of you say I am too hard on him...

And driven by the possibility that he might say, "Well, just put up the other one yourself then..."

I kept my mouth shut.

I didn't sigh.

I didn't cross my eyes.

I just said, "Thank you."

Aren't you proud of me?

The end.

...

...

OK, it's not really the end.

Because when we got home from a Christmas party Saturday evening he looked at the tree and said, "Hmmm...that doesn't look right. Is that the right tree?"

And I, in keeping with the generous spirit of Christmas, replied, "No, but it looks good. It is just fine."

"Is it too tall?" he inquired.

I did not reply, "Well, d'oh...all trees are supposed to be bent over at the top like that." Instead I graciously told him, yet again, "It's just fine. Thank you for doing that."

Sunday morning I was doing some writing when I heard some thumping, bumping and swearing coming from the family room. I did not investigate. I thought perhaps Mr. Jenny had found one of my old Richard Simons 'Sweating to the Oldies' VCR tapes and was trying to surprise me with a six-pack for Christmas.

More thumping and bumping...a few more swear words...

A six-pack! What fun that would be. I gave him his privacy.

Finally, he came into my office all sweaty and red-faced. Richard Simons! I knew it!

But instead of showing me his well muscled abs, he said, "Come with me." I followed him to the family room where the correct Christmas tree had been assembled. The skinny, too tall tree was gone.


Gosh.

I was a little surprised and not disappointed at all that I wouldn't be getting a six-pack for Christmas.

Instead I got the perfect tree. From the perfect husband.

And besides. If he had gotten a six-pack for Christmas then I would have had to get one as well.

And to be honest, I think I might have missed our jelly bellies.

In fact, I'm certain of it. Without them I'm not sure if we could fill out our Santa and Mrs. Claus suits correctly?

I am signing out from this beautiful Christmas story post with a...

HoHoHo...

...and a sigh...

Sigh.