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Ah, Christmas time! The smell of fresh cookies baking in the oven, the cozy blanket of warmth coming from the fireplace…. and the sound of Dad cursing, as he wrestles with the oversized Christmas tree the old Maxima strained to haul home the day before.

At the Nace house, it wouldn’t be Christmas without this yearly battle. Sometimes Dad wins, sometimes the tree wins, as was the case last year, when the tree dished out three dramatic protests, crashing to the floor in the middle of the night, fully donned in lights and ornaments. (I think this was some sort of message from the tree – you know Jesus fell three times too . . .)

So this year was no different. I picture the classic old western flick face off scene – dad stares down the tree, saw in one hand, tree base in the other. The tree stares back, ready for a fight. Silence fills the air, with the exception of the wind, a faint howl in the distance… ok im goin overboard. You get the idea.

The only difference is, your classic western showdown takes about 10 seconds and it’s over. The tree battle is long and drawn out, never coming to a close without swearing, shearing and grumbling. But it always gets up in one way or another (one year actually tied to a wall), and then we can all enjoy that wonderful fresh Christmas tree smell permeating the house.

This past weekend was tree weekend, and as you can see, the tradition continues…