Today’s the day when we put it all up. The wreaths. The candles and stockings and snow globes. I’m the one who takes out all the Christmas decor and puts it up. This means it’s my husband’s job to put it away. He’s not a big fan of this, and he wrote a poem to tell you why.
Two Weeks After Christmas: A Dad’s Lament
‘Twas two weeks after Christmas and all through the house
The only sound you could hear was the sound of me grouse
My back hurt. I was tired. I needed a cup of joe
My wife rolled over and pretended not to know
Today’s the dreaded day to put away all the décor
When I trudge back and forth 40 times to the third floor
I’d had all the presents and all the joy that would be
It had now come down to an epic battle with that tree
First, please God save me, I remove the tree light tangle
The way she puts them on the tree makes me want to strangle
Oh Frasier fir, you started out so fresh and so green,
As I struggle to carry you I trip and nearly break my spleen
To my car top I’ll wrestle that kindling that once was a tree
Then I’ll return to my home to discover the cat pee
That bastard cat has once again befouled the tree mat
But I can’t dally, now it’s time to clear the snow village, stat
Snow Village you bring joy to my kids and a smile to my wife
But how I hate your damn boxes, little horrors of my life
Where’s the box for the corner store, the one for Santa’s sleigh?
With forty-two freaking boxes this will take all damn day
I want to watch the game and not screw with this crap
Glad it’s 50 glorious weeks before I’ll have to go get more wrap
I’m nearly done, though I think there’s a broken ornament in my foot
How come all that Santa ever has to deal with is cookies and soot?
And I heard my wife say as I drop the tree out of sight
“I think I have pine needles in my ass crack.”
And to all a good night.
Uh, honey … you forgot the lights outside …