12-8-02 Side Streets, Kimra Traynor Herb
Searching for the Herb Christmas Tree
By Kimra Traynor Herb
IPS Features
It is said that
God gives us what we need; not what we want. Never was that point so clearly
illustrated for me than last Saturday when my family set out in search of the
annual Herb Christmas tree. It started out predictably, with a fight between my
two oldest boys for the what they like to call "captain chair gun!"
Since I ride "shotgun" when my husband drives, the boys have taken it
upon themselves to indulge in a huge warfare anytime we have to get in the van
over the captain chair in row 2 of the van, rather than to be banished to the
"way back" where he will be forced to sit on a regular bench seat.
"You
know," my husband chimed in; his usual response to this fight. "When I
grew up, we had three kids crammed in on a bench seat and one of us had to sit
in the front, wedged between my mom and dad." The boys just stare at him;
his story has nothing to do with their comfortable life nor their fight for the
"good seat."
For my part, I
am firmly in the land of denial, where I am telling myself that this year we'll
be the "perfect family" and have the ideal Christmas tree outing- no
fighting, no bickering, harmony and peace throughout the land.... or at least
throughout the van. No such luck. The boys pick and argue and make their younger
brother scream for the entire trip to the Christmas tree farm. By the time we
arrive at the farm, we are all sick up of each other and ready for some space.
We park the van and the boys eagerly disembark, still mumbling, "No YOU
are!" to each other as we emerge from the vehicle. Next to us, a similar
van parks, and I note, much to my horror, that we have parked right smack dab
next to "the perfect family."
"Look at
that family." I tell my boys and husband. "They all have matching
hats." It is true. The entire family, from Dad to Mom, to the teenagers
down to the toddler, all are sporting long Santa hats made from a cheerful
patchwork fabric. There are about seven family members in all, and they are
smiling as they help each other out of their van.
"That is
stupid." My oldest mumbles.
"I'll bet
you wish we all had matching hats." My middle son acknowledges, insight
fully.
"I wouldn't
wear one of those dumb things." My youngest shouts out, too loudly, for I
fear the "good" family is going to overhear us.
It is time for
the hayride into the pine forest to pick a tree, but I am unwilling to get on
the wagon.
"What's the matter?" My husband asks me.
"I can't
ride with them." I gesture to the perfect family who are still helping one
another out- offering a hand to pull one another onto the hay.
"Why
not?" My middle son is confused.
"The
contrast will be too stark!" I reveal. "There they will be, in their
matching hats, full of love and good humor, and you guys will be fighting."
"We won't
fight!" My youngest squeals.
"Yes we
will!" My oldest replies.
"Will
not." My youngest shoots back.
"Will."
It goes on like that for a while until I pointedly stare at them.
"You
see." I sigh. "We'll wait for the next wagon." As the wagon laden
with the happy family pulls away, I predict: "I'll just bet they are going
to sing Christmas carols." Sure enough, the wagon has barely left the gate
and they are Decking the Halls like there is no tomorrow. I give a long measured
stare to my brood who are pushing each other into the stumps of previously cut
trees.
When we do get
on our wagon, my husband and I immediately get into a snit because I want
to sit on one side of the wagon and he wants to sit on the other. Of course,
this wouldn't be a REAL problem except that he gets his feelings hurt because,
as he sees it, I don't want to sit with him. Then I get all explosive because
the way I see it, he should move over to be near ME if it is that important to
him.
And so it goes.
We move through the trees, my oldest son calling the trees that my middle son
likes "retarded" and my youngest darting around like a madman set
free. Exhausted, we finally all agree that the pink tagged tree on my left
"isn't too bad" and claim it as our own. The experience of getting the
tree has been draining, wearisome and painful- in short, all it was expected to
be. We catch one last glimpse of the "perfect" family driving off full
of mirth and glee in their matching hats as my boys commence to fight.
"Captain
chair gun!"
"I already
called it."
"Did
not!"
"Did to; I
called it back in the field."
"You can't
call it that far ahead!"
"Can
to!"
"Can
not!"
"MOM!!!!"
I'm not sure what, exactly, it is that God thinks I need here, but after our little tree excursion, I truly was thankful that He provided me with a full bottle of aspirin.