My how history repeats itself.  Maybe my story will sound familiar to you too.

When I was a kid, we would drive out to Bob’s Trees in Galway and cut down a Christmas Tree. My dad and the guys would tie it to the roof and pray like you know what that we didn’t lose it somewhere on a back road.  We always wanted the biggest and fattest tree and you know it never looks that big in the forest. We would get home, hungry, cold and pumped up for Christmas tree decorating! Yeah!

My Dad did not exactly subscribe to this plan of celebrating.   He had a job: he had to string the lights.  It’s a man/Dad thing.  It requires skill, an eye for methodical wrapping and patience. Ooo, what was that last one? Patience? Not. Even. Close.

My Dad would be so frustrated and the lights and back then they were hot. After the first 10 minutes or so, my mom sense a change in the air and would say, “be quiet, your dad is working on the lights.  Shhh.”  Really? He is not performing bypass surgery but OK.  This went on for years.

Well now it’s time for a ‘really Chip?’ moment. He starts out happy-go-lucky and quickly falls into that Dad mode.

• Frustration builds
• “Karen, pay attention you are overlapping the lights” (really Chip?)
• who put these light away last year? They are messed up.
• And the all time clincher, ” it’s Ok, I’ll finish up.” Translation:  you are not cutting it, step off so I can finish.

I find myself looking for things for the kids to do so they are not under foot. OMG I am my mother after all.  While we never actually break into a fight, the atmosphere remains charged.  Nothing that a little glass of cheer and some cheese and crackers can’t cure.