I Do Not Like It. I Love It.

 

My emotions about decorating for Christmas are decidedly mixed.

I mean, I do enjoy having the tree up. But do I actually enjoy the decorating process? I do not.

I do not like plugging in the lights to find out that even though a permanent tree may never wear out, being made of plastic as it is, the lights do fail after a few years. And at that point, even with my magic LightKeeper Pro in hand, I will curse this plastic monstrosity because it WILL NOT LIGHT.

I do not like that even though Husband and I wrestled a gabillion boxes of decorations down from the attic and I only decorate one room, the angel I wanted to put in this spot right here apparently remained up there so I'll need to make another trip up and down before I'm finished.

I do not like trying to remember how this whirlygig fits together but that doesn't matter because the candles that create the updraft that makes it spin have melted during their summer under the roof in the attic.

But then I start to put the actual ornaments onto the tree. We have made a habit of buying an ornament during our vacations, and the Boys have continued that tradition by marking special events with ornaments. The queen shown above is a reminder of the summer Boy#1 spent studying in London, with the contemporary update of a string of lights slap-dashedly thrown across her front because I was DONE with figuring out where the lights were malfunctioning.

Or this chartreuse velvet bird? I picked it out as I wandered around a Christmas shop with Boy#1 and Lovely Girl on her very first visit to Small Town. Behind the bird is a purple-clad St. Nick, a gift from Boy#3 showing pride in the university he and I graduated from.

Out of frame are ornaments that were in a basket Husband and I received as a wedding gift from his parents' best friends, and ornaments the Boys made in their wonderful magnet school. A painted oxcart represents the biggest vacation we ever took and a chili pepper Santa reminds me of the restorative trip to Santa Fe the year we played upset-the-fruit-basket with our employment situations.

I love these reminders of milestones and good times.

I love that Husband has deciphered the mysteries of the automatic timer and now I come home from work in the dark to see the Christmas-y glow shining from the front windows. Even if it's 72 degrees (which it was, last week, and how do you people in Florida get any Christmas spirit whatsoever?) it seems like the loveliest moment of winter.

Each morning when I get up the glow of the tree lights my way down the stairs, and in those moments I forget that I ever did not like this decorating process.

Like childbirth and writing, for a Christmas tree the means are forgotten in view of the end.