Christmas Floats R Us

For the past 10-12 years, my mother has been in charge of the stake Christmas navitivy display.  She invites everyone in the stake and surrounding areas — members and non-members alike… can’t be having those Southern Baptists thinking we’re not Christian — to display their various creches.  These come in the form of blankets, stained glass, porcelin, wood, play-do, felt, styrofoam, water color, crayon.  You get the picture.  My mother works tirelessly for weeks and the actual set up takes days.  The end result is the most gorgeous collection of works celebrating the birth of Christ.  Seriously. 

In order to entice the community and again, reinforce that we are indeed Christians, she had a sign made measuring 10 x 6.   This sign is set out in front of the church announcing the times and dates of viewing.  It’s encased in 4 x 4s, is cumbersome and heavy.  Due to lack of support from local church leaders and because she’s a busy person, my mom announced that she was retiring from this endeavor.  No one filled her place and so the sign and all the decorations took up space in her garage.  This weekend she finally had enough and recruited me to help her deliver the sign and other materials to the 2nd Counselor’s house for storage.

I had just returned from a 90-minute gym stint when she announced it was time to load the truck.  After struggle a bit just to maneuver out of the garage, I hopped in the truck bed and decided to pull while she pushed.  She pushed and the sign landed on my big toe.  ANY TIME she has ever heard me swear, I’ve be reprimanded.  Well, I dropped the mother of all words and all she said was, “I’m so sorry!”  I’m pretty sure I’ll lose my toenail in the coming weeks, but at least she didn’t reprimand me for my language.  I then used bungee cord to strap the sign and the 6 ft wreath in.  Mom elected that I drive and I had gone about 3/4 of a mile when the wreath fell out, nearly landing on top of the car behind us.  You’d think the driver would’ve noticed the unstable cargo and me going 15 mph as a sign to get in the other lane.  We went another 1/2 mile when the sign flipped over; that’s when my mother swore.

Now I did mention that I’d just come from the gym.  I decided that morning to wear a pair of navy shorts that fit once upon a time but had shrunk and then I gained weight and if I’d wanted to look like a whale I could’ve worn them to Wal-Mart.  Instead of getting rid of them, I did what all women do: I shoved my skinny pants in the back of the dresser, determined that I would some day once again fit into them.  And yesterday was that day.  They did indeed fit, sort of…  just so long as I was standing and not engaging in much movement.  Somehow it worked out just fine at the gym because it was me and the weird old guy who works out in his jeans and watches The Nanny on Lifetime.

But here I was, leaning up against a 150 lb. wooden sign announcing a Nativity display, knees up to my chin as my legs were anchoring the 6 foot wreath, wearing short shorts and displaying my wooka for the entire town to see in a truck bed large enough to fit Big Foot.   No one in recent memory has had the pleasure of that view except my OBGYN and even she wasn’t all that thrilled.  As the wind whipped through my hair, the wreath’s needles poked my thighs and I became acutely aware of the new level to which my life had sunk: riding on a Christmas float in the month of May.