Until a few years ago, I categorized watching Hallmark movies as somewhere between pathetic and incomprehensible. Then, for some unknown reason, I started watching them. Even more unbelievably, I began enjoying them and have the socks to prove it. Since my tolerance for these depictions of idyllic fluff is limited, I am still in touch with reality and know this story is NOT a Hallmark Christmas tale.

Some Christmases are more memorable than others, and the perfect ones (do they even exist?) aren’t those that permanently embed themselves in the Yuletide memory banks.

Allow me to set the scene for our “definitely not a Hallmark” experience. My husband is a purist when it comes to Christmas trees. He’s a real-all-the-way guy who is also in charge of regularly watering it and sweeping the needles. For several years, itchy eyes and runny noses for one family member or another (but not him!) were the seasonal blight in our home until we hit upon a tolerable species.

The unanticipated event in this story occurred when our children were young, one a toddler and the other a preschooler. The plastic ornaments twirled from the lower branches while the precious glass ones sparkled from the upper levels. The tree had been in place for a few days, and it was a glistening delight, complete with the fragrance of a pine forest—something you can’t duplicate from a spray can or candle. Sounds Hallmarkish, right? Just wait.

Since it was the season for giving, I was at the stove, cooking one of several batches of playdough to give to my Sunday School class of preschoolers. Classic Christmas carols softly wafted through the kitchen as I worked. When my goo finally began to thicken, a sound that no woman ever wants to hear reached my ears. The crash and tinkle of the tree falling over and ornaments breaking.

That horrible noise immediately launched me into a quandary. Did I set aside the playdough and risk ruining it, or did I run to the next room to rescue what I could? Did I mention that my husband, who set the tree in the holder, wasn’t home? Choosing to jeopardize the playdough, I beetled into the living room and discovered a disaster zone. The tree lay on its side, shards of broken glass littered the floor, and water ran everywhere on the peach-coloured plush carpet. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but instead, I ran for towels and rags and began the rescue mission. What a mess. I don’t remember what I said to the tree installer when he arrived home, but his wife didn’t greet him at the door carrying his slippers and a plate of cookies. It was NOT a Hallmark Christmas scene.

And now, Chapter Two of this sad tale. It happened again the following year. The circumstances were different, but the result was the same: a tree on the floor and water everywhere. Some Christmas traditions wrap a family in warm fuzzies—not this one. Eventually, we overcame that element of the happiest season of all—until we moved. Yes, it followed us.

Ultimately, the ingenious tree guy engineered a solution to the problem. He tied the tree to the window latches on either side so it couldn’t fall, preventing the loathed tradition from resurfacing.

 We are still married. And my husband is still a purist (and gave his consent and support for sharing this story). However, we now laugh when we venture down the “Remember When” trail, but it wasn’t funny then.

 If you have a funny memory of something that was NOT a Hallmark Christmas, please feel free to share it in the comments. Your email address will not be published or used for any other purpose.