Not much changes….
The year was 1984, and it was our first Christmas in our newly built-by-my-dad-in-61-days house. My very exotic Aunt and Uncle came over and had the brilliant idea to put “snow” on our very-real Christmas tree. I’m not quite sure what this “snow” was, but I just remember that instead of smelling like a forest of pine trees, the new house smell was given over to fresh washing detergent. We were told to scoop up this soupy solution by the handful and let it rip towards the tree — no doubt to give it that fresh-from-a-winter-blizzard feel. Honestly the only thing I really remember from the night is getting my ass handed to me by my dad for having a bad attitude and storming off crying to my room. (Mind you, I was a fickle child with VERY tender feelings — sidebar: My dad regularly asked me, “Carrie have you cried yet today?!” — so an outburst of emotions was not that unusual.) Maybe it wasn’t that harsh, but looking back at the evidence and knowing how confused little emotions stirred violently in my belly with no way out other than through my eyes, I think I know what the problem was. There are two very real possibilities:
A.) It wasn’t real! Just why in the world were we trying to create something that could never live up to the expectation of the Bing Crosby special of a White Christmas?! I knew Christmas was a farce from a young age, I just didn’t know how to step up onto my soap box (like I do now). So my only option was to sit in that chair in front of the fireplace and sulk it up!
B.) (The more realistic version) I was having a bit of a melt down that this “snoooow” was getting all over our NEW house! It was messy and I didn’t like it! (This coming from the same child who didn’t want to get water on her face as a baby and didn’t go barefoot outside on the grass until college!)
Good grief — how did my parents survive me?!