I admire the families that imbibe in a yearly ritual of driving to the forest to cut down their Christmas tree. These beautiful people pause to capture this moment for their Christmas cards, every single one of them in the frame looking festive, rested, and genuinely joyful.
That’s not us.
We are the Walsh hot mess express of Christmas.
We have two different camps to accomplish the mission. Tom and the girls travel the far distance to the local Home Depot to acquire the tree. Meanwhile, I stay at home, hiding from my family, throwing up decorations around the house. Upon arrival back home, our hardware tree, a cross between Charlie Brown and the redwood forest, is hoisted up on our ottoman to make it “appear larger in real life”.
You know how some families have a theme for their tree? We do too: nostalgic chaos. The lights are precariously dangled on, leaving me (just one short month later) saying lots of bad words as I try to retrieve them in an orderly fashion.
The girls then take to decorating like bees to honey, throwing heavy ornaments onto light branches and light ornaments onto heavy branches. It makes no difference that they have gained spatial awareness for ornament placement as they have each matured, my kids still decorate the tree like they are 4 years old - all decorations clumped in an 8 inch radius. They push one another, elbows flying for the only coveted bare space left. And just like when they were little, I redecorate it after they go to bed.
Our little tree heaves and buckles and rests in the love that is being thrown up onto every single needle. The glittered toilet papered tube, the five pudgy faced baby framed ornaments, the angel topper who’s skirt needs to be readjusted so that she is properly covered.
And I am here for it. All the chaos, the crazy, the unorganized love of the season.
Merry Christmas you beautiful humans. I love you.
Michelle
