"Is your house on fire, Clark?" "No, Aunt Bethany, those are the Christmas lights."
The days following Thanksgiving mean it’s time for one thing: Dramatic weight gain! Also, they mean it’s time to put up the Christmas lights.
Since I’m a little slow, I needed a few hints that I need to get in gear and hang some lights. Driving around at night, I notice that many homes are now festively decorated for the season. I think, “I should really do that.”
After a few days of not doing that, I notice Ellie is spreading her indoor decorations throughout the house. I think, “I need to find those lights in the basement.”
After a few more days of not looking for lights in the basement, Ellie points out that we’re currently experiencing our last, beautiful, 60-degree weather of the season, and now is the time to decorate outdoors. I think, “I’ll get to it tomorrow.”
The next day I finally go into the basement, find our lights, and pull them into the frigid outdoors. I think, “No problem, I’ll put these up in an hour before the frostbite sets in.”
Turns out, I did have a problem. This is my first year hanging Christmas lights with three children depending on me for nourishment, love, and entertainment. At first I tried running outside while everyone played happily inside. I quickly discovered that I could only go outside and work on the lights for a short while, sometimes as long as nine seconds, before someone would suffer a meltdown in my absence. Then I tried going outside while everyone napped, but Abbie’s sudden refusal to nap destroyed that idea like a boot stepping on a light bulb. Then I tried going outside while the boys napped and Abbie happily watched TV. That worked until Abbie realized I was outside and she wasn’t, and she stood at the door screaming and threatening to wake her brothers. Finally I threw Abbie’s coat on her and took her outside with me. She quickly wanted to go back inside, so opened the door, and she became angry that I was outside without her and she was cold.
I spent the next several days working on the lights in small chunks whenever Ellie was home or the kids seemed like they could cope without me for a minute. Hanging lights took much longer than I thought it would. I’d love to be Clark Griswold one day, but for now I only have a few strands to hang. Those strands have been in the basement for 11 months, where they fused with each other in a mess of tangles that dwarfs Abbie’s hair by bedtime. I must have spent an hour total pulling on the wires, yanking them, trying to dislodge one solitary strand.
When I finally had a loose strand to hang, it didn’t work for some reason. I went down the line, replacing broken and missing bulbs. I plugged in the strand and found a third of the bulbs dark. I sighed, looked at the broken light strand, looked at the several strands tangled together, listened to my screaming children, and did the only thing rational: I opened a new box of lights and hung those. I should’ve done that in the first place. I could’ve been done a week ago, saved the kids and myself a couple hours of frustration, and kept my fingers warm.
Since I’m a little slow, I needed a few hints that I need to get in gear and hang some lights. Driving around at night, I notice that many homes are now festively decorated for the season. I think, “I should really do that.”
After a few days of not doing that, I notice Ellie is spreading her indoor decorations throughout the house. I think, “I need to find those lights in the basement.”
After a few more days of not looking for lights in the basement, Ellie points out that we’re currently experiencing our last, beautiful, 60-degree weather of the season, and now is the time to decorate outdoors. I think, “I’ll get to it tomorrow.”
The next day I finally go into the basement, find our lights, and pull them into the frigid outdoors. I think, “No problem, I’ll put these up in an hour before the frostbite sets in.”
Turns out, I did have a problem. This is my first year hanging Christmas lights with three children depending on me for nourishment, love, and entertainment. At first I tried running outside while everyone played happily inside. I quickly discovered that I could only go outside and work on the lights for a short while, sometimes as long as nine seconds, before someone would suffer a meltdown in my absence. Then I tried going outside while everyone napped, but Abbie’s sudden refusal to nap destroyed that idea like a boot stepping on a light bulb. Then I tried going outside while the boys napped and Abbie happily watched TV. That worked until Abbie realized I was outside and she wasn’t, and she stood at the door screaming and threatening to wake her brothers. Finally I threw Abbie’s coat on her and took her outside with me. She quickly wanted to go back inside, so opened the door, and she became angry that I was outside without her and she was cold.
I spent the next several days working on the lights in small chunks whenever Ellie was home or the kids seemed like they could cope without me for a minute. Hanging lights took much longer than I thought it would. I’d love to be Clark Griswold one day, but for now I only have a few strands to hang. Those strands have been in the basement for 11 months, where they fused with each other in a mess of tangles that dwarfs Abbie’s hair by bedtime. I must have spent an hour total pulling on the wires, yanking them, trying to dislodge one solitary strand.
When I finally had a loose strand to hang, it didn’t work for some reason. I went down the line, replacing broken and missing bulbs. I plugged in the strand and found a third of the bulbs dark. I sighed, looked at the broken light strand, looked at the several strands tangled together, listened to my screaming children, and did the only thing rational: I opened a new box of lights and hung those. I should’ve done that in the first place. I could’ve been done a week ago, saved the kids and myself a couple hours of frustration, and kept my fingers warm.
posted by Matt at
11:43 PM
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