The Tree

A few friends have seemed startled when I’ve shown up at social events recently. I’ve even gotten comments of surprise that I’ve left the blog long enough to socialize. (Ho, ho, I’ve chuckled. My friends are so charming in their hilarity.) Though I’ve played along, I have felt anxiety about my marginal mothering of late. Husbandman shows up to more kid activities than I do, there’s no denying it. This week, my guilt meter has soared, as I’ve moaned on and on about grading without really rolling up my sleeves and getting the job done. The December days tick by and the house has no holiday décor. There are no gifts yet either. Feeling guilty about my malaise, I initially and scornfully rejected Husbandman’s offer to get the tree. In my deluded state of mind, the tree buying expedition is a not to be missed standard of functional family interactions; like the families in the Currier and Ives ads, we should venture out together to the tree lot, trading funny little quips and chatter as we search. I don’t know how I fell prey to this, there's really no rational explanation. I eventually saw the light and the error of my ways and accepted Husbandman’s kind offer. The fam sallied forth while I headed over to the compound to record grades. When I returned, an awesome tree stood in the stand, looking extra fine in front of the bay window. I’m almost done with my midterm grading and now I’m ready to take control of tree decorating. Stand back one and all. This is one of my fortes, if I do say so myself.