All the woodpecker wanted for Christmas was a home – my home.
And that turned me into a grinch.
Instead of singing songs of good cheer, I've yelled at the woodpecker to stop its incessant pecking at our wood siding.
Instead of deploying my elves to shop for gifts to place under our Christmas tree, I've spurred them to splurge on a fake owl and reflective ribbon to spook the fella.
Instead of stepping on the ladder to hang new Christmas lights as my neighbors have done, my dad climbed up to install the decoy and to hang the shiny ribbon and glittery tinsel with care.
I've warned my husband and 5-year-old – who've teased me for my not-so-jolly attitude toward my new, wild nemesis – that I better not open a Woody Woodpecker-themed gift Christmas morning. I'm not entirely confident they'll honor that request.
And so it's not always with Christmas cheer that I join the holiday crowds.
Sometimes, the trips to the grocery store – the strolls through the toy aisles – give me a much-needed escape from the attack on my house, where my true love hasn't given me a partridge in a pear tree but a whistle to scare off my unwanted feathered friend.