Michael got our fake tree down from the attic this weekend, and I got it all fluffed out and ready for decorating on Saturday. On Sunday, I began the dreaded stringing of lights.
First, I plugged in each set of lights to make sure they all worked. Check.
I started at the top of the tree and walked around and around and around, stringing them just right, making sure to get them about halfway down each branch (Michael likes it that way). When I got to the bottom of the tree, I realized that the end of the light in my hand DID NOT plug into the wall.
I stood very still for a moment or two, telling myself that it was my own fault for not paying attention to what I'm doing. Okay. Deep breath. I calmly and carefully jerked all the lights off the tree, laying them in separate piles so there is no tangling. Snapped at the kids to leave them alone.
Once again, I strung the lights. Round and round the tree. At the bottom, I realize that once again, I had the wrong end of the cord. I squelch a scream of frustration, but I must have made some noise because the children turned and asked me what was wrong.
I had to wait a moment to answer them, because my brain was spewing all sort of vile thoughts about trees, lights and the commercialism of Christmas. Why couldn't we open gifts beneath the Christmas Pole?
Again, I calmly and carefully yanked the lights of Ye Old Stupid Tree, and restrung them. At the bottom, YES, it plugs in! Woohoo! I go across the room to admire, only to see that a strand of lights about 2/3 up the tree is not lit.
And so it stands today. To fix the problem, I must purchase new lights. I don't want to. Ye Olde Tree stands and twinkles its mockery of me. I waver between wanting to kick the snot out of it, leaving it as it is (who needs all the lights to light?) and wanting ultimate triumph. I'll let you know how it turns out...