Christmas fight



To be honest, it’s the same silly fight, more or less, every year. But being predictable isn’t the most ridiculous part of this debate.

“This can’t be all the lights. We’re, like, a foot from the top of the tree!”

“This can be all the lights because it is all the lights.”

“No way. They worked last year.”

“Smaller tree.”

“No way. Same size tree.”

“Are you going to fix the lights?”

“No. There’s no way…”

“Just fix them.”

“Easy for you to say. I always do the lights.”

“So shouldn’t you be better at putting them on right?”

“They are on right, smartass. They just don’t go all the way up.”

“Oh. I see.”

“Fine. I’ll finesse them a bit. But it’s going to drop even more needles if I go around and around taking the slack out of the lights.”

“So move the tree away from the wall.”

“You. It’s too hard to move.”

“Then why would I do it?”

“Because I said so.”

“Please fix the lights.”

“Fine.” Takes ten minutes to rewrap the tree. “Is that good?”

“If by good you mean closer to the top.”

“I do.”

“Then, yes, it’s ‘good.'”

“Don’t finger-quote. Just…fine. You do it.”

“I’m not doing it. You’re the lights person.”

“But why? Why do I do this every year?”

“Because you do it wrong every year then want someone else to fix it. So if you have to fix it yourself, nobody has to listen to you control-freak all over them.”

“I don’t ‘control freak all over…’. Damn it. I want to rewrap this.”

“Go ahead.”

“This is the last time, though.” Fixes lights on tree, which is still against the wall. Lights are perfect, tree is perfect, life is perfect.

“That looks great.”

“It does, doesn’t it. Thank you. Now you sweep up the needles.”

“No way.”

“Why not?”

“Because you made the mess and you have to clean it up.”

As ridiculous and childish as this fight is, I find it more ridiculous and childish that I’m having it with myself. Because my husband won’t get within 50 feet of the tree when I’m stringing the lights.

Mostly because he knows I’ll have this fight with or without him, and he prefers…greatly prefers…that I have it without him.

Things I learned this week…

Single pane windows suck. Mucho.

Starbucks is making a mint off single serving Horizon milk. Every kid who walks in that joint gets one.

Berkeley real estate is not climbing as fast as realtors say—they just list the price 30k below what it’s worth, and watch it sell for 50k over. May they all rot in a cell with Madoff and Abramoff. Anyone else now leery of all people suffixed -off?

The weeks where your little are brilliantly in sync with you, where life really is sunshine and blueberries through the rain and cold, are brilliant gifts.

There are far, far too many opportunities to be nasty and jaded during the holidays, when a gross number of people are blinded by selfishness and bitterness. Please go volunteer, and take a child to see the lights around town. You’ll be less likely to wrap yourself in your own world.

The USPS has a total racket going around the holidays, and three different post offices were useless to me in my quest to get seven large envelopes of Peanut artwork into the mail this weekend. Even their job-killing robot postal employees were out of patience and out of postage by Saturday morning. wtf?

Missing friends is hard. I don’t know how we did it before the Internet. (I do, really, because we wrote letters. And that was glorious. Must go do that.)

Even when CheeseBoard features mushrooms on their pizza, there’s none better.

One day off a week, where I go far away from PeanutWorld and into my own world is enormously restorative. Should’ve been doing this for the past 2 years.

It’s really, really, really nice to be home.

Happy Hannukah.