Deck the halls with boughs of holly.
Yeah, it should be so easy. Try decorating a Christmas tree with two kids, one frustrated Carpenter and a kitty cat that thinks every ornament on the tree is an enemy to be destroyed. Fa, la, la, la, la, ahem, la, la, la, la.
Nothing about this experience was festive. Amusing, yes, but celebratory? Not so much.
Perhaps it was too late in the evening.
Perhaps we should have waited until the children were in bed. These are all good thoughts to have in hindsight.
But in the spirit of the season, we wanted our tree decoration to be an experience of quality family time, sharing treasured memories of years gone by, and the mounting excitement of Santa’s big arrival.
In our home, the Christmas décor falls under the careful delegation of our fearless leader, the Carpenter. He dragged our artificial tree in to the house from the garage, and with a few twists and inappropriate expressions of disdain, he assembled the greenest plastic tree you ever did see.
It’s funny how we all stood back and admired our tree’s lush, perfectly green branches, as if we grew it ourselves.
Yep. It’s a fine looking tree. Someone says that every year.
While we stood in mock admiration, the Carpenter made a zillion trips from the garage to the living room carrying countless boxes and totes full of holiday paraphernalia. I don’t know how such a small family has accumulated so much crap, but that was not the time to make such an observation.
The Carpenter, tired from the workout, was about to lose his holiday spirit.
He was missing the ever-elusive tote that contained his imitation garland for the hallway banister.
Crisis.
As we popped the lid off the first tote, memories of Christmas’ past fell out. Little hands dove in and before I knew it, there were ornaments and gigantic knots of LED lights strewn across the living room floor. It was merriment mayhem.
In minutes, the tree was haphazardly decorated with no thought to attractive presentation or even visual balance.
Nope.
The tree looked like someone threw glittery stuff at it and walked away.
But the children were rather pleased with themselves. So be it.
We put up the tiny lighted-village, made room for the snowman knick-knacks and cleared a table for the Nativity scene. All the while, our newest family member, Mon Chat the kitty cat, watched with mischievous intent.
Curiosity may not kill the cat, but I think the Carpenter would have when he heard me yell out “Hey guys, the cat stole Baby Jesus.”
So begins our holiday season. We have a tacky tree, glowing with energy-efficient pride and a cat intent on destroying it.
We have a naked banister and a Nativity scene that defies description. And I wouldn’t change a thing.