Don't Buy Christmas Trees with Packing Peanut on them

That might sound like an odd title, but you all know I’m going to explain it with a story.

The year was 2008.  Our little family of four was renting an old house in a tiny little town in central Ohio.   When I say “old house” I mean that the main part was built in 1850, and the foot-thick wooden floor beams that could be seen from the rough hole that was the basement were so old that I half expected them to be petrified.  The floor of that original section slanted heavily downward to the north.  I would lay our baby on the carpet in the living room, and she’d roll her way into the computer nook every time because downhill travel was easier.  

The newer sections, which were the result of various subsequent additions over 150 years or so, didn’t quite line up with the original.  As a result, there were odd 6”-12” steps between many of the areas.  The rooms themselves were smashed together in a strange format that made no logical sense and were constructed in a way that suggested that their utility was of little concern.  

The master bedroom was the entirety of the loft and had no vents, no openable windows, no fan, no closet, and no door.  The stairs leading to it were so narrow and followed such a tight turn, that we could barely get a boxspring and mattress up them.  The headboard didn’t fit and was stored in the basement for the year that we lived there.  

The second bedroom was built off of the kitchen, but a full foot lower.  My three-year-old used that one.  I discovered that the primary benefit of that 12” step was that it kept most of the toys from rolling out of her room into the kitchen.  The other “bedroom” was at the end of a tiny hallway.  The hallway was another step down from the kitchen.  It was on the same level as the only bathroom, but not the bedroom.  That was another step down, and very small.  I’d say maybe 6’x10’ and that’s probably being generous.  The baby slept there.  

Despite its oddities and inconveniences, the old yellow house had a character and charm yet unmatched by any of our other homes, as did the little town it was situated in.  We spent only one Christmas there, but it was a memorable one for several reasons.   For starters, it was one of the very few truly white Christmases we’ve had in this state in 18 years of living here.  Not just a dusting, but heaps and piles of snow.  And not only on Christmas Day, but for almost the month of December.  It would stick to the ancient plate-glass windows in such a way as to transport you a century back in time just looking out of them.  The old house, the tiny town, and the abundant snow gave a magical feel to that Christmas.  It started on the day we went to get our Christmas tree.

Since our very first Christmas, my husband and I have kept a tradition - one that is 21 years strong this year - of cutting our own Christmas tree around the beginning of December.  That year was no exception.  On a chilly Saturday morning, we bundled up our girls and drove our little Subaru Forester to the tree lot just as the first flakes of what would be a very beautiful Christmas season started falling.  It was a beautiful day to cut the tree, albeit cold.  

During the “little years” - when the kids were small and had substantially less patience - we tended to rush the tree cutting a bit more than we do these days.  We were less picky then, for said reasons.  We found the first little evergreen that fit the bill and looked it over.  Not crooked, not too thin, no dead branches…  We noticed a small, tan, foam-looking thing that resembled a packing peanut tucked deep inside.  I figured maybe it was sap that had bubbled in there and thought nothing of it.  We snapped a quick picture of us all with our tree before my husband chopped it down and loaded it on the red cart to drag it back up to the binding machine.  

The tree farm workers noticed the tan packing peanut, too, and told us that it was actually a praying mantis egg cluster.  They recommended that we leave it be, and not harm it.  According to them, it would stay right where it was through the holidays and would hatch out a few hundred mantises in the spring, wherever the tree ended up.  No problem.  Spring was a long way away, and decorating around the mantis peanut would be no issue.  We loaded up our tree and headed home.  

It was a beautiful little tree.  

Fast forward a couple of weeks to the last few days before Christmas.  I’m staring down about a week’s worth of wrapping and baking and last-minute gift-making to do in half as much time.  I stumble downstairs one morning to a concerning sight.  The carpet seemed to be alive.  Or flowing, perhaps, in the general direction of the opposite wall.  But not just the carpet, the wall, too, had a slowly advancing shadow rising up it.  And the couch, and the arm-chair, the lamp, the blinds, and the bookshelf…

The whole living room was crawling (or walking) with tiny baby praying mantises, fleeing my entrance to the room.  

Apparently, the cozy warm inside of our house had felt enough like spring that the praying mantis eggs in the tree had hatched sometime in the night.

Now, I love praying mantises.  I like a lot of bugs, actually, but mantises are among my favorites.  And let me tell you, the baby ones are so cute.  Even at a half inch long they have the little triangular heads that tilt around to watch you.  Normally I would LOVE to see a baby praying mantis.  But normally would mean outside in the summer sun, a few at a time. 

This was hundreds.  All over my living room.  In the dead of winter.  This was not “normally” and I was not thrilled.  I ran through the options in my head.  It was very cold outside.  I was one vs. like 300…

Mass murder was my only choice. 

Don’t get me wrong, I did consider, for a minute, trying to get a fish tank or something and round them up and figure out how to feed them…  but let’s be real; they weren’t going to make it in my care for the 4-5 long months until spring temps.  

I felt like a giant demon, vacuuming them up as they fled in a herd (flock?.... Google says it’s a “congregation”) across the house.  I cried a little.  And immediately emptied the vacuum and took it out, grumbling about the tree farm “expert” the whole while.  

We had a great Christmas in that little house, with that little tree, in spite of a few hundred deaths.  I still feel bad about it.  They did not die in vain, though.  I learned my lesson that year.  Now I check every tree BEFORE we bring it home.  

And that, my friends, is why you don’t buy Christmas trees with packing peanuts on them.