My morning was going to consist of bringing my car in for maintenance, for working on a website, and for swinging by the ice skating rink to sign up for continued skating lessons for the sprouts. An ambitious day would follow with a gym visit, and superman mama day would included a stop at the Apple store for a new computer charger and ipad cover (nothing glamorous or even immediately pressing, but wanted just the same). Instead, after french toast and bacon breakfasts and kids out the door, I sit beside my pre-lit faux tree, the one that refuses to light in just one patch, and I do a search for, “i plugged the wrong male into the tree trunk and now it won’t come out fake tree.”
No one in my house really knows what a fuse is. And to be honest, I don’t think that’s even the issue. There was this dangling male end of a cord, and a female slot in the “bark” in the “trunk” of the tree. So, wouldn’t ya think, they’d make a nice little hookup? Stars did not light up like Paris when I got those two together. Nothing happened at all, except for the fact that now, the two refuse to be split apart. They’re like obstinate lovelorn teens. Phil tried and couldn’t, with all his might. This morning, I even tried again with rubber gloves to yank him out of her. No go. I’m certain I’ve got the order wrong, that some other male cord belongs in that tree slit. Now, I’ve gone and made her a whore, and she’s loused up my morning plans. Nervy is all I can say.
I wish I were the type who could just go onward with my day. Instead I’ll spend all of today trying to fix it, searching online, visiting Home Depot, searching for a solution, and my production for things that actually matter will plummet. Or, I’ll ignore it, and I’ll sit uneasy all day, taunted and plagued, by my turd of a tree. Happy Holidays!
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I understand exactly how you feel. Last weekend I decided I needed Christmas-themed pillows for our family room and I couldn’t relax until I found the right ones. Now, today, I know that the valance above my kitchen window needs the wrinkles steamed out of it, and I’m sitting at my desk obsessing and wishing that I could just leave work to do it.
HA! That is seriously funny.
Last year was the first year we got a Christmas tree in about 12 years. Lovah and I were testing out holiday cheer – trying not to cross the boundary into the war zones that we had both endured whilst married to others.
Daughters, lovah and I went to the lot, stomped around and chose the tree. Came home, got it standing up nearly straight, and lovah and eldest daughter started putting on the lights while I hid in the bathroom (PTSD from a mean tree putter-upper ex husband). When I came out, they were proudly admiring their work – 3 strands of yellow white lights around the bottom and top, and one strand of blue white lights right in the middle. It looked ridiculous. BUT – there was no yelling, just laughing, so we left it.
They were so proud of themselves- I didn’t have the heart (nor desire) to change it out. Amazing how time heals old wounds.
This year, it’s oddly warm here – like mid-60’s, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s perfect. Maybe a tree, maybe not, but peace and calm are now the norm for the season.
Good luck with the tree!
My husband is the same way as you, Stephanie. When something gets in his head, it takes precedence over the rest of the to-do list. After a few (well, maybe more then a few!) arguments and frustrations, I’ve started to just leave him be when he gets something in his head. If there is anything on the to-do list that is really important, I often just do it instead. What is tough, is when there is something that needs to be done and he pushes to the side, but then gets picky about the way I choose to handle it. We have achieved a bit of a balance in the last year or so when he doesn’t get picky about the things I take over when he is consumed. And I learn to stop hovering over him saying “it doesn’t matter that garage code doesn’t matter, we can use the remote until somebody can fix it!”
Wow, how do you manage? Running a household AND raising two kids.