While the kids and I certainly had a memorable time in New York City for Thanksgiving, and we all agreed that taking the trip was the right thing to do, and something we’ll probably do again in the future, we didn’t take into account that we’d be coming back home to an empty house and we’d have a long stretch of days ahead of us that weren’t jam packed with their usual activities.

A had his winter formal, and G went deer hunting all weekend, but with the dogs to exercise, house projects that needed to be worked on, and just not wanting to leave the house again, E and I did not go on our annual girls’ day out shopping spree.

The last few years, even with the Sunday hunt, we still tried to get out for our Christmas tree sometime over Thanksgiving weekend.

With the kids’ involvement in winter sports, holiday concerts, dance recitals, and all the other stuff that December brings, if we didn’t at least get the tree in the house by the first day of deer season, it was iffy if it would happen at all.

Our hunt for the perfect Christmas tree was its own annual tradition.

First, Steve and I imagined our kids, frolicking through the snow, gleefully picking out the perfect tree together. Maybe a stop for hot chocolate on the way to the tree farm. Some semi-coordinated family pictures.

Everyone taking their turn hacking down the tree, and then a cheerful drive home, after which, we’d all help unload the tree and start decorating it as the delightful scent of evergreen wafted through the house.

Then, reality would take over, and with a lot of grumbling and complaining, we’d eventually get everyone in the car. The first round of pouting would be over who had to sit in the “back back” seat of the SUV.

Not only did it involve having to sit behind the seat that was pushed all the way back, with no room to extend one’s legs, but the last two years, it also involved being the one who ended up with a lot of dog sitting on them, too.

Shortly after arriving at the tree farm, after Steve got done complaining about the terrible parking jobs all the “city people” did in the parking lot, another fight would break out over who was going to carry the saw and who had to “drive” the tree cart.

By this point, Steve would already have stalked out in front of the “banshees” as he called them and pretending like he didn’t know us. Last year, after a brief encounter with a classmate in the parking lot, A followed Steve’s lead and distanced himself from us.

I laughed at the time, because each of their posture resembled the other so perfectly, there was no denying who they belonged to, no matter what they would have preferred people think.

The final decision about the tree was always mine. Unfortunately for the whiners, I was always sure there was one just a little bit bigger and better on the next hill over. Until we found that one, and then I was positive that the previous one was the one we should have selected.

There would usually be a little more fighting by now because whoever the poor sap was who had to drag the tree cart was about finished with that job and it was time to switch.

I’m pretty sure that as the kids got older, they realized that the more they fought, the sooner I picked a tree, but maybe I’m giving them too much credit.

Once the perfect tree was located, it was time for our annual family photo. This involved Steve laying on the ground and setting up the perfect shot, then forgetting to turn the timer on the camera, or kicking the camera over when he got up to race over to join the family.

Or a thousand other things that could go wrong. This resulted in a lot of cursing, and many hilarious outtakes, and was even more fun when we tried to incorporate both dogs in last year’s photo. More of the same would continue until we got home, by which time absolutely no one had any interest in decorating the tree, at least for a few days. Then, we’d rally, get it decorated, and all agree it was the best tree yet.

This may sound like an awful memory, but for me, it is so representative of who our family was. All of us headstrong, and sure that our way was the best way.

Everyone determined not to do one bit more than was required, or at least more than a sibling had to do. Running around like chickens with our heads cut off, but at the last second, everyone doing their job and pulling it all together and at least making things look good.

Months later, someone would recall some outrageous moment when something went wrong, and we’d all have a good laugh about it.

As I look at last year’s photo, the last one we would ever take together as a family, and the only picture that has all of us together with both dogs, I can hear the squabbling, I can hear Steve’s frustration as the boys insisted on bringing down the tree their own way. (One of the main issues was that A is a righty, while Steve and G are lefties, so each always thought the other was doing it wrong.).

It was what we did every year, and what I thought we’d do every year for a long time. Steve and I used to wonder how many years it would take before the boys learned to work together to bring the tree in, and he would just sit back and watch.

Now, I can’t imagine us ever getting another tree again. I know that the boys would work together and not fight, and that silence would be too much to bear.

Liz Pinkey is a contributing writer to the Times News.