Reality

I have high hopes.  Great expectations.  In all areas of my life.  Dreams about how situations will play out. Allyson has told me so often that I build up situations in my mind, hopes for how others will react, how moments will play out and how I will feel.  And as a result, she reminds me, I am often disappointed because I have created something in my mind that just isn't going to happen.

Like recently when I tried to get the boys to share all the things they were thankful for, only to have my perfect moment of thanksgiving nixed as the conversation turned to bodily functions that they were grateful for.

Recently, I again saw my high hopes for a perfect family moment fail to come to reality...the purchase of our Christmas tree.  I envisioned bundling up my babies, browsing the selection of trees while my boys giggled and sang Christmas songs.  We would find the perfect tree, take some pictures and rush home to begin stringing the lights and hanging the ornaments.

I should have known things were not going to go as I'd hoped before we left home.  Sam insisted on wearing camouflage since we were going to "look for trees."  Apparently he thought we were going into the woods to cut down the tree ourselves.  After hearing the many reasons he had to wear his hunting clothes, I gave in, knowing that the picture I had envisioned of my boys dressed adorably in their winter best wasn't going to happen.  Jack was tired and ill and had a meltdown over having to wear a coat and hat.  He whined and complained, cried and fussed.  And when he nearly tripped over his bottom lip as I ushered him to the truck, I knew my dreams of a wonderful outing were disappearing before my eyes.

We arrived at the tree lot and Sam was on my "Let's Make Memories" bandwagon, smiling and overflowing with excitement.  He ran around, laughing and jabbering about this tree and that tree and even stopped and said, "Mama, take my picture by this one." And at that very moment, he may have become my favorite child.

Meanwhile, my middle son had ripped of his the hat that I had lovingly placed on his head and was walking up and down the rows of trees kicking every single one of them.  Walk.  Kick.  Move to the next tree.  Kick.  Moan, whine, call the trees "stupid," kick.  Move to the next tree.  Kick, yell "My not like trees!", crush his Mama's dreams one kick at a time.

Sam insisted on bringing his gun to make sure there were no varmints hiding in the branches.  I told him no. And he told me he needed to make sure there were no squirrels or snakes or lizards hiding in there that would scare me when we we got home.  My sweet little redneck.  How could I say no to that?  And just like he'd promised, he walked from tree to tree, shooting his gun and scaring away any critter that might frighten his Mama.  

My sweet baby, the only one bundled in the winter clothes I wanted him to wear, slept like a sweet angel. Unfortunately, he napped during his entire first Christmas tree purchase, but he sure looked handsome doing it.  Handsome and well dressed.

We picked our tree.  Actually, Sam picked our tree.  It was smaller than we usually get, but I was happy to let him choose.  Especially since he had worked so hard to free it from any wild life.  I told Sam his pick was excellent and was thrilled that my dreams of a perfect evening weren't all lost.  A gentleman that was working the lot, walked over to us and asked us if we'd decided which tree we wanted.  We told him that we had, indeed, decided and  I pointed to Sam's choice.  He made small talk, thanking us for our purchase and telling us they would gladly put the tree in our stand for us.  He then turned to speak to Sam.  He praised him for his choice, complimented him on his camouflage attire and said he sure liked his gun.  

This is the point that I should admit that his gun is real.  A real bb gun.  His Dad, my husband, bought them each a bb gun.  He explained to me that we have spent a small fortune on toy guns that last a few days before being busted to smithereens.  He told me they are cheap and poorly made and that a real gun would not break and would last more than a few days before being tossed into the burn barrel.  I wasn't thrilled, but obliged when I knew they would never receive bbs and thus couldn't harm themselves or anyone else.  I should also explain that Sam's gun is pretty powerful and makes a loud pop while releasing a burst of air.  It can easily startle unsuspecting bystanders.  He knows the rules.  Don't point it at anyone.  Don't shoot it near anyone's ear.  Don't scare anyone.  And he obeys the rules.  Usually.

As the nice man admired his hunting gear and what he thought was a toy gun, my son hit the trigger.  And the barrel of the gun was pointed at that poor man's face.  He heard the pop and was hit in the face with the burst of air and dust.  And his knees buckled.  And he gasped.  And I gasped.  Jody yelled at Sam.  I began apologizing.  Jody apologized.  I was mortified.  I apologized again.  And again.  The man soon laughed and told Sam, "You shot me, boy!"  And I began to apologize again.  He threw his hand up in the air and said, "Don't worry about it.  No big deal."  But I had seen his knees buckle and heard him make a sound that I only thought girls could make.  I knew it had scared him.  I knew for a small instance he thought he was a goner.  And so once again I began telling him how sorry I was.  He must have felt sorry for me or he really wanted us to leave, because he offered to take a family picture of us in front of our tree.  Wow, I thought.  A picture.  With me in it.  That never happens.  Maybe this night isn't a total loss.  He took the picture, I grabbed my camera and headed to the truck with my youngest two, leaving Jody and the rifleman behind to collect our purchase.

I bombarded Jody when he got in the truck. "See.  See.  That's why they can never have bbs.  Never.  Or at least until they are like twenty or something.  And Jack.  Jack can't have any until he's thirty five.  And I mean it.  I really mean it.  Never.  Absolutely never."

And then I turned on my camera, excited to see a rare shot of the five of us.  I was thrilled to have a picture of us together and felt that somehow that rare surprise would make up for all the mess I had just experienced.  And then I saw the picture.   The picture that the gentleman proudly bragged about saying, "Okay!  I think I got it and it's a good one."

The perfect ending to our night.

High hopes.  Great expectations.  

And a little thing called reality.