My MIL Sent Us a Christmas Tree and Insisted We Decorate It—I Wish I Hadn’t Listened

My Mother-in-Law Sent Us a Christmas Tree and Insisted We Decorate It for the Holiday—I Was Such a Fool for Listening to Her

When my domineering MIL insisted that we utilize her particular Christmas tree for our first time hosting the family get-together, I became dubious. But until we plugged it in and learned the real reason she was so adamant about the tree, I was surprised by her lack of decorating requests.

When that enormous box arrived in October, I should have seen something wasn’t right.

This was strange, even for my mother-in-law, Veronica, who had always been the domineering sort, particularly when it came to family get-togethers and the customs that surrounded them.

“What do you make of this?” That night, while holding up the message that came with the fake Christmas tree, I asked my husband Brent. In my hand, the paper shook a little.

You will utilize this tree during Christmas. Put it at the door in the corner of your living room. It was written in Veronica’s exact handwriting, and you could embellish it however you wanted.

Squinting at the note, Brent ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Mom’s always been particular, but sending us a whole tree?”

“Without even mentioning decorating requirements! No scheme of colors for the ornaments? Not a lecture on the star’s correct angle? I made an effort to speak in a lighthearted manner, but the uneasiness was already firmly planted in my stomach.

Brent added, “Maybe she’s finally learning to let go a little,” but his tone was more hopeful than certain.

“Remember last Easter?” I was compelled to mention it. “When she rearranged all the place settings I’d done because they weren’t ‘properly balanced for optimal conversation flow’?”

Brent let out a grunt. “Or Thanksgiving two years ago, when she brought her own turkey because she wasn’t sure I’d cook ours the ‘family way’?”

I managed a giggle as I added, “Which apparently means drowning it in butter and covering it in bacon,” “My arteries are still recovering.”

For the next two months, I threw myself into getting ready for our first family Christmas get-together.

Like some kind of holiday time bomb, the tree sat in its box in the designated corner of our living room, ready to explode. That nagging sensation that something wasn’t right would come back every time I passed it.

On a coffee morning in early December, my sister Kate informed me, “You’re overthinking it,” “Probably because, for once, Veronica isn’t trying to control everything, just the tree.”

As I absently stirred my latte, I insisted, “That’s exactly what’s weird about it,” “Veronica has always resisted giving up control of anything. Because the centerpiece was obstructing what she referred to as “crucial sight lines,” she forced Brent’s brother and his wife to repaint the entire Christmas dinner table last year.

Kate rolled her eyes. Perhaps she has finally come to the realization that she needs to relax a bit. particularly in light of the incident during Tommy’s graduation.”
The memory made me grimace. Because we had arranged a little family party at our house rather than the formal restaurant event that Veronica had reportedly been organizing for months, she had caused a stir.

It didn’t matter that she hadn’t really disclosed these plans to anyone.

With just enough snow on the ground to make everything appear wonderful, the day of the event dawned clear and bright.

I had devoted hours to making everything flawless. Mulled wine was warming in the kitchen, the garlands were hanging just so, and the Christmas cookies were set out on old dishes. The home was filled with the scent of pine and cinnamon, and the speakers were playing a gentle Christmas tune.

Brent encircled me from behind and said, “It looks amazing, honey,” while I was rearranging a bowl of ornaments on the coffee table. “Stop worrying.”

I lied and leaned back into him, saying, “I’m not worrying,” “I just want everything to be perfect.”

He told me, “It will be,” but I saw him looking at the disconnected tree with a hint of concern.

About four, family members began to arrive. First to arrive were Brent’s sister Sarah, her husband Mike, and their teenagers, Jason and Emma, who headed straight for the cookies.

Next to arrive were his brother David and his wife Emma, who brought a bottle of wine and their typical laid-back vibe.

“The house looks amazing, Lucy,” Emma exclaimed as she gave me a firm embrace. “I love what you’ve done with the mantel.”

Veronica arrived last, her hair as neat as ever, her lips squeezed into what appeared to be a grin. She was dressed in a Christmas sweater that most likely cost more than my whole ensemble and her trademark pearl necklace.

“Lucy, dear,” she said as she gave my cheek an air kiss. “I trust you’ve set up the tree I sent?”

“Of course,” I said, pointing to the corner where the man-made pine stood, adorned with a variety of modern and vintage ornaments and pleasant white lights. “We were just about to plug it in.”

“You were? Is everyone present? This practice should be observed with the entire family present.

Veronica looked at David and silenced him as he muttered something under his breath. As I grabbed the plug and put it in the socket, everyone gathered around. Then catastrophe hit.

The background festive music was broken by a harsh hiss. The lights flickered like something from a horror film, with smoke curling from someplace inside the tree.

“Oh my God, Mom, what did you do?!” As flames began to lick up the false branches, Brent’s voice broke.

“The fire extinguisher!” Brent was already rushing to the garage when I screamed. Chaos exploded all around me, and the air was thick with the pungent scent of burning plastic.

While David attempted to assist by hurling his glass of wine at the base of the tree, which only infuriated and spat out the flames, Sarah steered her teenagers toward the front door.

“Not the wine!” Veronica screamed, as if she was more upset about the alcohol waste than the fact that her present was attempting to set our house on fire right now.

With a grim determination on his face, Brent returned with the extinguisher and sprayed the tree with white foam.

We all stood in stunned silence as the flames eventually extinguished, gazing at the smoke-and-foam-covered catastrophe that had almost destroyed our home.

Mike became aware of it at that point.

“Hey, what’s this?” He extracted something little and dark from the burnt branches. “It looks like… a microphone?”

The room fell into a deafening quiet.

Brent’s face turned hot, then pale.

“Mom,” he added in a potentially lethal whisper, “isn’t this the same type of listening gadget that you inquired about last month? The one about which you claimed to be “simply curious”?”

Veronica broke through her calm exterior. “I just wanted to confirm that everything would be completed correctly. The customs of the family—”

“Traditions?” Brent’s voice lifted. “You almost set our house on fire after planting a bug there! “What were you thinking?”

“You don’t understand!” There was a desperate tone to Veronica’s voice. The world is changing! All of you are withdrawing and creating your own customs. Everything is changing because of Lucy—”

“Don’t you dare blame this on Lucy,” Brent said, taking a protective stance in front of me. “She’s been nothing but accommodating of your controlling behavior for years.”

“Mom,” Sarah said shudderingly, “this is crazy. You might have caused harm to someone.

“I never meant—” David interrupted Veronica as she opened her mouth.

“Never meant what? to be apprehended?” He was no longer the laid-back person he usually was. “How long have you been doing things like this?”

Years of meticulously preserved family relations fell apart in front of my eyes. Emma was frantically typing on her phone, David was unable to even look at their mother, and Sarah had her hand over her mouth.

I finally found my voice, and I whispered softly, “I think you should leave,” “Everyone. We need time to think about this.

With a desperate expression on her face, Veronica turned back as everyone poured out. “I only wanted to keep the family together,” she said in a low voice.

“By spying on us?” Brent’s voice was full with passion. “You’ve done exactly the opposite, Mom.”

I went down at my computer and began typing that evening after everyone had left and Brent had taken the fallen tree to the curb.

“A Christmas Story: How My Mother-in-Law’s Listening Device Nearly Burned Down Our House.” Fueled by years of suppressed anger and skillful persuasion, the post essentially wrote itself.

It went viral by morning. Those who shared their experiences with domineering relatives and Christmas catastrophes left comments in droves. Interviews were requested by local news. My phone was constantly vibrating with alerts.

“You okay?” As I read through the replies, Brent inquired while handing me coffee.

I surprised myself by saying, “Yeah,” with meaning.

He gave me a shoulder squeeze. “We’re getting a real tree next year.

I smiled. “Where the only bugs we might find are living creepy crawlies.”

“Exactly.” Brent smiled.

To clear the air, burn away the old growth, and create space for something new to grow, sometimes a disaster is necessary. I could almost picture the party for the following year as I gazed at the vacant spot where the tree had been.