I was recently with a friend who said her husband excuses himself from the annual trimming of the family Christmas tree, abdicating all rights of involvement, leaving her and the kids wholly responsible. I responded with shock and awe, saying I had NO IDEA what that must be like.
In case my experience is a freak aberration in terms of husband involvement, I think it should be documented in case we could make it into the Guinness Book of World Records. (One of my kids is obsessed with getting in there and this may be her best shot). Also, perhaps there’s someone who shares my pain and we can console one another.
Our family has just completed a nine-day-multi-step process to get our tree to visitor-ready status. Upon completion, Jon announced to the kids with much ceremony, “Now, don’t touch the Christmas tree!” Knowing they’d never pass that test I immediately cordoned it off using velvet-covered ropes, the likes of which you’d see at a Hollywood red carpet event.
Brace yourself. You’re entering the inner sanctum of the Livingston home at Christmas time.
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