Tag Archives: humor

Why All Parents Should Volunteer in Their Child’s Classroom

willsdad

It’s Friday. And I love Fridays.

For the last couple of months I’ve been volunteering on Friday mornings at my son’s school. I was nervous at first because I’m not someone who volunteers for anything. I’ll happily lend support from the sidelines where I can blog and snark from the cozy, reclusive cheap seats, but actually volunteering? It always gave me the willies.

But after getting leveled with some hurtful but totally accurate criticism from my wife about being a naysayer who never throws his hat in the ring to actually make a difference, I decided it was time to put up or shut up.

Best. Decision. Ever.

The work itself isn’t glamorous, as it mostly consists of making photocopies. And by mostly, I mean all I do is make photocopies. And after my first time, I almost never came back. Between learning the copier, correcting and preventing paper jams, figuring out the toner, getting paper cuts, and getting interrupted by teachers who need to make emergency copies on the spot, it’s a bit overwhelming at first.

I guess the rational part of my mind knew all those copies had to be made by someone, and that someone is usually the teacher. But as a parent, all the worksheets just magically appear in Will’s backpack. It’s kind of like sausage in that regard — I don’t really think about how it’s made. I’m just glad it’s there.

Well let me tell you something folks, I’ve now seen how the sausage is made and how much time it takes to produce. And frankly, I’m not sure how teachers have the time to, you know, actually TEACH with all the damn copies they have to make. Needless to say, I’m happy to take some of the copying and stapling duties off the plates of teachers if it means they can spend more time instructing students.

And speaking of the classroom, that’s by far my favorite part.

I get a sneak peek into Will’s classroom during the day. On Valentine’s Day, I even got to chaperone a little party they had. I get to put faces with all the stories Will brings home about his classmates. I get to see the classroom Will describes in vivid detail. But most importantly, I get to be his hero during this unbelievably brief time that hero status can be achieved just by showing up to school to make a few copies.

When he sees me walk in his face lights up and he’s proud that I’m there. All the other kids rush over and greet me by my new name — “Will’s Dad.” I’m not Aaron or Mr. Gouveia or even Mr. G. Just Will’s Dad, which might sound like a loss of identity, but is actually anything but.

Will leans his head against me and whispers “I’m glad you’re here.” The other kids recognize me and wave. Some of them show me their new Patriots shirts, others have bracelets they’ve made, and I’m always besieged by play date requests for them to play with Will. I know almost all of their names now, and I’m a tiny part of their routine. And it’s glorious.

When I’m done making my copies, they’re usually at gym or music so the classroom is empty. I drop the gargantuan pile of copies on the teacher’s desk and then I grab a sticky note. Every week I write a message to my son and leave it on his desk as a surprise when he gets back. I tell him I love him and I sign it the same way.

“Love,
Will’s Dad”

If you can find the time, volunteer at your child’s school. It helps the teacher, your kids will love it, and you’ll find joy in a completely unexpected place. And if you need help with the copier, just holler.

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7 Things New Englanders Can Love About This Snow

snowyenough

So I live in New England. Massachusetts, to be exact. And if you haven’t heard, we’ve got a little bit of snow up here.

Boston has seen 95.7 inches of snow this winter. But what’s really amazing is 90 inches has fallen in the last three weeks. I repeat, more than 7 feet of snow has pummeled us in the last 21 DAYS! Granted, we’re used to snow up here. But this? This is a lot. This is record-breaking. And understandably, this region is quickly reaching its collective breaking point.

In my town, school was canceled an unprecedented six times. It’s more in other places. Not only does that mean parents have to stay home from work to take care of their kids, it also means Massachusetts students could be watching July 4 fireworks from inside a classroom.

Also, the snow has made driving a nightmare. Lucky for the citizens of greater Boston there’s public transportation, right? Wrong. The MBTA (or the T as locals call it) is in shambles, its failing infrastructure put on display by the metric ton of snow that’s fallen. Trains are canceled on nearly every line, and the best estimate is at least 30 days to get back to normal (barring any additional snowstorms).

Lack of parking, property damage, canceled flights — you name it, we’re experiencing it. And we’re sick of it.

But instead of complaining, I’m going to put on my optimist hat and play devil’s advocate. I’m going to find the silver lining of the white blanket covering my beloved homeland. Starting with these seven things.

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7. SOMETHING TO LOOK FORWARD TO
They say when you’re going through a rough time you need to fixate on something good. Something you can look forward to. I had a package delivered to my front door prior to the late January storm that dropped the first 2 feet of snow on us, but I forgot it on my front steps and now it’s buried under 7-foot snow drifts. I have no idea what it is, but when the snow melts in August I’m going to be SUPER excited to see what’s in there!

6. WAXING PHILOSOPHICAL
I took a philosophy class in college and liked it. Unfortunately I haven’t had much of an opportunity to engage in deep thinking for the sake of deep thinking, but this snowpocalypse changed all that. On my son’s sixth canceled day of school — after we had opened every puzzle, activity book, and weird Christmas gift that lives in the dark recesses of the upstairs closet — we started talking about the snow. About its sheer volume. And then my son said it’s weird to him that he hasn’t seen the ground or the grass in almost a month. And I said that made me wonder if it was even there. Then he said it must be there because the snow is sitting on top of SOMETHING that’s holding it in place. Then I said maybe it’s like Neo’s spoon from the Matrix, and there is no ground. But talk of a spoon made us both hungry, and hot soup interrupted what was sure to be crystal clear insight regarding the origins of the universe.

5. GETTING LOST IN PLAY
Speaking of my son Will, I’m worried he’s been using the iPad too much. After all, Minecraft is kiddie heroin. So I told my son to go outside and get lost in the exploration of nature in all of its snowy goodness. Unfortunately, I forgot how deep the snow drifts are and “losing yourself in play” has taken on a whole new meaning. Yes, that’s actually him. Well, it’s his head anyway.
Willburied

4. LEARNING PATIENCE
As an impatient man, I’m ever so grateful to this monumental amount of snow for teaching me patience in so many forms. For instance, spending 60-90 minutes shoveling the deck, steps, walkway, and front of the driveway was exhausting to say the least. But when I was done, I was able to soak in the glory of a job well done for all of .64 seconds before turning around and seeing 5 inches of fresh powder in the place I had just cleared. Furthermore, I’ve also learned to be patient of those of you who don’t live around here, posting your beach photos. Or worse, absently complaining about temperatures dipping into the 50s which requires you to dig out your winter sweaters. I swear, I only made this face approximately 5,000 times before I eventually reverted to hitting myself in the face with a cast iron skillet so I wouldn’t hunt all of you down and skin you alive.

3. HELPING A FRIEND WITH HIS LOVE LIFE
One of my friends from out of the area is divorced and having some trouble meeting women. However, these apocalyptic snowstorms gave me an idea and helped him out of his rut. With ice dams ravaging the roofs of thousands of area homes and causing unspeakable property damage, stores can’t keep roof rakes and roof melt in stock for more than a few minutes. So he bought a roof rake on Amazon and loaded his truck up with melt, drove to Boston, and is now eyeball deep in New England women who would gladly toss Super Bowl MVP Tom Brady out of bed for a chance to be with my friend(‘s roof rake).

2. A CHANCE FOR BOSTONIANS TO MEET THEIR NEIGHBORS
Cities can be impersonal places at times, but these The Day After Tomorrow level storms have changed all that. You see, parking spaces on the street are already hard to come by, but in snowy weather it gets even more scarce. So if you see a dug out spot but it’s got a cone or a chair in it, here’s what you do. Get out of your car, move the object holding the space, put it on the sidewalk, and park your car in the space. I guarantee in just a few short minutes, you’ll meet your neighbor. Hell, you’ll probably meet your neighbor’s whole family as they rush out to meet you and have a few words. And next time, don’t be surprised if they graduate from a chair to a couch to save that public spot to which they have absolutely no claim whatsoever. Grandpa Sully and Grandma Marge will sooner move their entire living room to the street and freeze to death before giving up “their” spot that isn’t really theirs at all.

1. A NEW FOUND APPRECIATION FOR LIFE
As the snow has piled up, so too has my respect for the fragility of human life and my appreciation to be alive. You see, nearly 8 feet of snow has fallen. That means after the plows are done, the banks are 10, 12, or even 15 feet high. Higher than street signs in many places. So it goes without saying, way higher than my car. Every single day as I pull out of my driveway, I drive in the shadow of the Reaper — for I have no idea whether or not a car is coming from either direction. Honestly. I roll the window down to listen for unseen, oncoming traffic. I make my way out, inch by inch, straining my neck the entire time to see if a tractor trailer is about to end my life. At a certain point of no return, you have to just gun it and hope for the best. It’s the traffic version of Russian Roulette and it is truly unavoidable. And terrifying. But the silver lining is I’m grateful to be alive — until I hit the next intersection and do it all over again.

Hang in there fellow New Englanders, March is almost upon us.

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11 Ways Valentine’s Day Has Changed After Kids

vdayparents

Look, I wasn’t too fond of Valentine’s Day before I got married and had kids. It’s a contrived, ostentatious “holiday” that does nothing but set impossibly high expectations and create an atmosphere conducive to crashing and burning when the bar isn’t met.

But it doesn’t stop most people from trying.

When I was sans children, I definitely tried to put the saint in St. Valentine’s. I was flowers, jewelry, expensive dinners, and handwritten poetry. Rhyming poetry. In fact, one poem I wrote to a girl started with “On this day of St. Valentine, I’m oh so happy you are mine.” Yup, that’s right. I won’t go so far as to call myself a stud, but yeah — pretty much a stud when it came to Feb. 14 romance. Anyway…

MJ and I were like most couples before they have kids. We were attentive, passionate, and we couldn’t imagine a scenario in which stepping on a LEGO could be an injury that lands us on the sexual injured reserve list (and by us I mean me). We were young, hot, and could choose to spend Valentine’s Day weekend in a tropical paradise if we wanted.

But as kids arrived and time slipped past us, things have most assuredly changed.

As most parents will tell you, children bring a ton of joy to your lives. However, they also have a tendency to bring about the death of romance, sex, and yes — Valentine’s Day. If you’re a parent, these before and after descriptions might have you nodding your head in agreement. If you’re an expectant parent, you might wonder what the hell you were thinking. And if you’re a hot, young, fancy-free couple who gets to have Valentine’s Day sex without using SpongeBob as a distraction, I hate you. And stop judging me.

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Before: You probably went the first year without farting in the other person’s presence. You held it in and put yourself through gastrointestinal torture just to preserve the romance and aura, only releasing the horror outside after you two were finished watching The Notebook and promising to be just like Noah and Allie (yeah I watched it, so what??) forever.
After: Someone just ripped a horrible, nasty fart and now the scent is wafting through the air like a WMD. Also, you don’t even know who it was. Partner, kids, or the dog. For a second you actually have to think about whether or not it was you. Because life with kids is one noxious scent after another, and you can’t help but think how much of a prick that Nicholas Sparks is for his damn, dirty lies.

Before: Remember how you used to search high and low for the perfect Valentine’s Day card? One of those decorative, doily type deals with lace and fancy trimmings. And the wording on the inside described a love eternal, a flame burning hot, and unbridled passion that would bring tears to any eye and yearning to all loins.
After: Shit! You forgot what day it is. Now the store is all out of cards and you’ve only got minutes to spare to get something done. In a panic, you grab some paper and crayons and tell the kids to get busy. The result is a bunch of nonsensical scribbles or yet another tracing of their hands. On the inside is a hastily written “Happy Valentine’s Day! We love you!” And you know she can’t say anything to criticize it because then she’s a bad mom who doesn’t appreciate artwork from her kids. Because who needs those fancy store bought cards when this is from the heart??

Before: I remember one year, I believe it was our first Valentine’s Day, MJ went all out. She had candles lit and the room all decorated, and made a night just for me. In fact, she even put a whole bunch of Hershey’s Kisses on the ground, and told me it’s because she kisses the ground I walk on (no really, this happened!).
After: The floor? Hahahaha!! No one has seen the floor in weeks because of all these toys.

Before: Speaking of chocolates, I used to get MJ divine candies for Valentine’s Day. Boxes of delicious little treats with who knows what kind of scrumptious filling inside. Which one am I holding now? Only one way to find out. Now let me seductively feed this to you in perfect, sexy little increments.
After: Ummmmm…the store was out of chocolate. But I think I remember Sam dropped a half-eaten Peppermint Patty behind the couch. Don’t worry, I’ll get it for you — because romance.

Before: I have one word for you: massage. Ooooooh yeah, baby. You know what I’m talking about. I slowly undress you and lay you down on the bed. Then I get my array of oils and gently but firmly rub my hands all over your body. I massage you into a state of simultaneous relaxation and anticipation until neither one of us can take it any longer!
After: Well, I guess a kid walking on your back kind of counts as a massage.

Before: That hip and fancy new tapas restaurant? You’re damn right I have reservations. I’ve had them for a month because I know how much you were looking forward to this. Order anything you want off the menu baby, tonight is your night. We’ll dine like royalty and then we’ll have “dessert” at home.
After: Crap, we forgot to get a sitter and there are none available because it’s Valentine’s Day. Well, we could try going out to eat with the kids. Yeah, you’re right — terrible idea. Oh well, so should I order pizza or Chinese? Or how about leftovers??

Before: Sweet googly moogly, when I think back on what MJ was wearing during Valentine’s Day of old — yowza! She was dressed to the nines with full make-up, fancy earrings, a dress that makes men fall to their knees, and heels higher than Matthew McConaughey in Dazed & Confused. Like she stepped out of Vogue and onto the runway. Hell, even I managed to put on a suit and tie once in a while and flirt with looking dapper.
After: She’s in yoga pants. I’m in pajamas. Will has a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle outfit on and Sam is sporting this season’s latest diaper trend from Target. Also, is that poop or chocolate on your sleeve? Yeah, you’re probably right. Best not to find out.

Before: Foreplay. When I think back on how much time we had before kids for all things related to sexy time — hellllloooooo nurse! Not to go all TMI on you, but most couples I know were like us. Enjoying being together for hours in various states of undress, taking your time, whispering sweet nothings, whispering dirty somethings, and generally letting the proverbial oven heat up until the timer goes DING!
After: Foreplay consists of the brief moments before someone shouts “JUST HURRY UP AND FINISH, THE BABY IS WAKING UP!!!”

Before: Sex. Doin’ it. Gettin’ busy. The main event. After all, isn’t that what Valentine’s Day is REALLY about? All the fancy dinners, gifts, cards, etc. are really just a prelude to taking a trip to Funky Town. And couples with no kids can do that any time they want. Anywhere they want. At any volume they want. For so many, sex is the end all be all and if it’s good, then everything else is good.
After: Hey parents, without thinking about it tell me which one of these you’d rather do — sleep together or be able to sleep in? Yeah, thought so.

Before: Think back to pre-kid times and try to remember what you did after sex on Valentine’s Day. I bet there was some cuddling and almost certainly some spooning. Whether you were big spoon or little spoon, you had time to reflect on the earth-rattling experience the two of you just created, while you breathe in her heavenly scent and feel his strong arms wrapped around you in a beautiful embrace.
After: Get on your own side of the bed! Don’t you dare cross the unseen but very real border that separates us and maintains the delicate peace as we struggle to get scraps of sleep.

Before: At the end of a beautiful Valentine’s Day that consisted of looking our finest, eating an exquisite meal, receiving lovely cards and gifts, and was capped off by the best session of lovemaking EVER, what’s left to do? Chat for a bit about life while gently trailing off to sleep as we gaze into the wonder of each other’s eyes, naturally.
After: Wanna binge-watch Netflix?

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Parental Hypocrisy

spellingwords

We’re pretty hard on our oldest son.

My wife and I push Will hard and expect a lot from him. Why? Because he’s very intelligent and more than capable of above average work. We’re not (completely) unbearable task masters or Tiger Parents, but we definitely crack the whip from time to time and set the bar high. Because you can’t assume you’ll get great results without expecting greatness at the outset.

So as you might imagine, we take Will’s performance in school very seriously.

Will, who is in first grade and turns seven in April, generally performs very well on his homework and weekly tests because he’s a bright kid. Unfortunately, he’s come to know he’s smart and that is his undoing.

In September at the start of classes, he realized homework consisted of reading at a level slightly below what he’s used to, and doing math he had already learned. And yet he struggled initially. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do the work, but because he thought he was above it all. As a result, he began making careless mistakes because he liked to rush through assignments and be the first one done. His letters were formed haphazardly, and his math suffered because he’d see “9 – 3= ?” and add instead of subtract.

We put a stop to that real quick.

We hammered home the need to take his time. With the help of his teacher, we worked tirelessly on reading and following directions. Forming his letters was the most difficult part, as he sees no reason not to make a lowercase “r” the same size as a capital “R.” Little things, but important things.

It took a few weeks, but it worked. Or at least we thought it had worked until yesterday.

When I got home from work I went through his homework like I always do, but his spelling words marked up with copious amounts of red ink stopped me in my tracks. Everything was spelled correctly, but his letters were all out of whack again. Having just let him have Minecraft on the iPad last week as well as Minecraft tutorial books, I came to the rapid conclusion he was rushing through his schoolwork to get to his new, all-consuming hobby.

And my wife and I were PISSED!

MJ and I put on our game faces and called him into the kitchen using his full name, which every kid knows is parent-speak for “kiss your ass goodbye.” We were unified. We were justified. And dammit we were going to make academics a priority in a BIG WAY!

“William,” I began, with a disappointed look on my face. “There is no excuse for this. What the heck happened here?”

Will threw on his “deer in headlights” look and flashed his innocent Bambi eyes our way as he took the paper. His eyebrows scrunched in confusion as he scanned the page, but then shot upright as if hit with a sudden realization. He started to talk but I cut him off because I was already rolling, and had no interest in that moment of listening to him.

And then the riot act commenced as I rained down the thunder.

“Will, this is unacceptable. Completely unacceptable! You worked so hard in the beginning of the year on your letters, and now we’re seeing this? What’s changed?? I’ll tell you what’s changed, you had Christmas vacation and then you got Minecraft. Well you can kiss that goodbye. We’re cutting down on TV, because you’re watching too much. But most of all, we’re saying goodbye to Minecraft. For at least a week. Because it’s clear you’re paying far more attention to that than you are to your schoolwork. Will, you’re better than this. We spent all this time talking about proofreading and checking things before you turn them in, but now you’re clearly rushing again. You’re not paying nearly enough attention and it has to stop. I’m sorry you’re going to hate us, but this is the way it’s going to be until you can prove to us that you’re responsible enough to do your school work the right way. Only then can you earn Minecraft back. Now, what do you have to say for yourself?”

I was SHOCKED to see he was calm and quiet. Usually if we threaten to take Minecraft away, he acts like we’ve just tasered him. But not this time. Instead, he was perfectly unaffected and — wait, is that — son of a bitch, I think he might have a faint, smug smirk. If my rage meter was already high, this sent it through the roof. But before I could rain vengeance down upon thee, he finally spoke.

“Mom, Dad…that’s not my paper. See? It has someone else’s name on it.”

Sure enough, he was right. I felt the blood drain from my body as the panicked expression on my wife’s face grew. To her credit, she apologized right away and said how sorry she was. As the self-satisfied grin spread across his face, I knew I’d also have to apologize. After all, I had just accused him of not proofreading and checking his work, while failing to make sure the test was even his. He had me dead to rights — and he knew it.

“Dad,” he chirped, with an aura of smugness. “Do you have anything you’d like to say to me?”

There was no way out, so I offered my apology and told him I needed to be more careful too. And I could tell from the look on his face it was sweeter than Christmas and his birthday combined.

And then, in an all-too-familiar tone known to those fluent in smartassery, he delivered his knockout blow.

“That’s OK Dad, we all make mistakes and I’m sure you’ll do better next time. I’ll be in the other room…playing Minecraft!”

Touche. Well played, son.

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Christmas Trees: Should You Buy Real or Fake?

xmastree

There are two types of people in this world: those who buy real, live Christmas trees and those who hate joy.

The turkeys aren’t even in the oven yet for Thanksgiving, but make no mistake — Christmas is coming. And with it comes the age-old question of whether to buy a real Christmas tree or head to a department store to buy a plastic one. You can already see where I stand on this, which is firmly in the real tree camp. But when I posed this question online, I was startled by the number of you “Fakers” out there, who happily thumb your nose at Christmas with your artificial, pre-wired holiday spirit. 

But worse than that, I was devastated to find out my wife — who once shared my belief that the only REAL Christmas tree is a real Christmas tree — has gone to the artificial dark side.

Now, this isn’t a case of us living in an apartment complex that doesn’t allow for real trees, nor is it due to allergies. Those things are understandable and unfortunate. But alas, this ain’t that. This is about her being tired of picking out the tree, lugging it home, and making sure it’s straight and tended to. She doesn’t want to worry about watering it, dealing with the strings of lights, overloading outlets, and the kids and pets that inevitably tear it down. And she REALLY can’t stand the thought of finding pine needles in the carpet for the next six months.

There are certain things you discuss prior to deciding to spend the rest of your life with one person. We talked about the importance of raising our future kids as Patriots and Red Sox fans, and never dressing our family in matching clothes for family photos. You know, the important shit. And included in that was the promise that we would ALWAYS have a real Christmas tree.

But apparently unofficial vows made just before our legally binding wedding vows don’t count for anything anymore, because she’s bailing. On me, the kids, the tree, and Christmas in general. The only way I could’ve been more devastated is if she dressed my kids in New York Yankees gear and picked that exact moment for a family photo.

Now normally when these disagreements arise, I lose. Don’t get me wrong, I put up a good fight. But wives are formidable adversaries, and husbands have a tendency to strategically surrender so life can go on and occasional nookie can still be had. However, I just can’t let this stand. So sexy time be damned, I’m going to convince MJ of the multitude of reasons real trees trump fake ones, and keep the tradition alive.

So, the million dollar question, why buy a real Christmas tree?

First of all, the choosing of the tree is a time-honored tradition and beloved family activity in the Gouveia clan. Growing up, my parents would take my brother and I to the Christmas tree lot and immediately the entire scene became an exercise in debate and compromise. My mom wanted the short, fat trees. I wanted the perfectly dimensional tree that had no flat spots or bare patches anywhere. My brother wanted any tree that wasn’t the one I picked, and my father just wanted to point out the flaws in everyone else’s trees before he grabbed one we all didn’t love but could settle on. It was exhausting, frustrating, and time-consuming. And we all loved it. Still do.

Next we’d bring it home and get set up. We had a tree stand that was apparently made in the 19th century that was incapable of holding a tree upright. But that didn’t stop the three of us from manning the top and bottom, shouting “IS IT STRAIGHT?” to my mom, as she repeatedly said “A little that way…no the OTHER way!” I’m convinced this was retaliation for never allowing her the Liberty Bell shaped Christmas shrub she craved.

Next, after it was straight but still pretty tilted, we’d get the Christmas lights out. Naturally, those lights had been bunched up and thrown into a ball out of frustration the previous year, meaning the next 90 minutes consisted of trying to untangle the lights without one of us brutally murdering the other. Then my father would add tinsel. No one else liked tinsel because it’s messy and looks tacky, but I’m pretty sure it was his retaliation to my mom’s prior retaliation.

The rule in my house was the oldest child (me) puts on the first ornament, while the youngest child (my brother) gets to put the angel on top of the tree. As the oldest, I hated this rule with a passion because CLEARLY the angel on top of the tree is cooler. So after the prerequisite 15 minutes of me whining about unfair treatment at the hands of the “Golden Child” (my nickname for my brother), I’d throw on the most heinous ornament in our collection — a HUGE cigar that either looks like a ginormous erection or an unwieldy piece of poop, depending on your perspective.

Once it was all done, we sat back and took in the absolute, hands down best part of having a real tree — the smell. That intoxicating scent of pine for which there is no substitute. And yes, you can burn a pine-scented candle if you have a fake tree, but there’s no way it’s the same. Not even close.

Having a fake tree means a trip to the attic/basement instead of the Christmas tree lot. It means not bonding over rigging up the lights and skipping that feeling of accomplishment that comes with solving a particularly nasty tangle. You can also make watering the tree a chore for kids to learn responsibility. And the smell — sweet Georgia Brown the smell. That’s really the only reason you need.

You don’t buy fake, pre-carved pumpkins for Halloween, do you? Hell no. You buy fresh ones and get messy carving them every year. A little mess isn’t going to hurt anyone. So there are some pine needles? Big deal. And yes, I have pets and they like the tree. Did the cats chew on the lights? Yes, they did. But if you hate cats like I do, that could also work out in your favor.

A lot of this is tongue in cheek, of course, but I really am putting my foot down on this one. For me, Christmas isn’t Christmas without a real tree and it’s something I want my kids to have too.

So how about it folks, real or fake? Give me your reasons for each.

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