I have numerous Christmas traditions. Some have been passed down from previous generations, some I have created during my adult life.
One of these most cherished traditions is what has become the annual Hobson-Williams Christmas. You might think this involves two families coming together to celebrate the holidays with each other, but in reality… it’s just two people (sometimes three, if my brother is there). Marcie and I have been having our own separate Christmas celebration and gift exchange since our first Christmas as roommates, and we’ve continued the tradition even after moving to different locations.
During what would become our first Christmas celebration, we were living together with a few foster dogs from the rescue organization we both volunteered for. I had, against my better judgment, purchased a live tree and a small amount of inexpensive ornaments to adorn it. The total investment may have been about $150, but it sure felt like a lot of money that particular year.
Our very modest tree
One evening as I was driving home from work, I got a call from Marcie. This seemed unusual, since she knew I’d be home in less than half an hour.
Her first words were “Don’t get mad.”
I am not considered by anyone who knows me to be a tolerant person, and as an OCD planner, when something in my plan goes amiss I have been known to be quite irrational. I like having a plan, and I am more comfortable when everything falls into place in that plan.
The other night my ever-optimistic boyfriend Jason told me, in response to my obsessive planning, that the best moments that happen are usually unplanned. Okay… I know he might have a point. However, in my world, that is the exception rather than the rule. I have examples. But that’s another story…
So… “Don’t get mad”.
I immediately upon hearing these words got mad.
“What?!” I tend to snap at people when they try to stall giving me bad news.
“Danny [my little brother] and I already cleaned it up.”
“WHAT?!!?!”
“Weeeellllll…… the dogs kinda knocked over the tree… and… the shatterproof ornaments… shattered…. And… well they ate most of them from the bottom half of the tree…. And…. Danny and I already cleaned it up!! Don’t get mad!”
Oddly… inexplicably… I didn’t get mad. I laughed. Then I laughed harder. I laughed all the way home. The crazy-ass dogs that we fostered had pissed me off countless times… eating clothing and shoes, going through the trash can, fighting with each other, eating the couch…. But this? This was hilarious. It was the perfect Christmas comedy.
There were many traditions to celebrate that year, and a few new traditions were born… but I will always remember those crazy rescued dogs who tried to eat Christmas.
Snow play
