The fun began the Sunday before Thanksgiving, with the goal being completion prior to turkey dinner. (And yes, I did prepare the traditional meal this year.) So that meant the placement and decoration of five trees ranging in height from 5' to 9.5', the arranging of the Christmas Village, placement of the snowman collection, the fireplace mantel tableau, the guest room (fully decorated with its very own tree), the playroom (remember my little garland?), the dining room, an art project I dreamed up at the last minute, and the placement of all the other miscellaneous decor that was lurking in my attic. I did not mention the outside display, which my tireless husband plans and executes to perfection each year, but this was also finished by the time the turkey hit the table.
Then, a little part of my design dreams came true. A girlfriend phoned to ask if I would be willing to purchase decor and then decorate her family's home for a holiday party! Heaven! It was a little window into my dream of becoming a full-time designer, and I loved every minute of it. Thank you, dear friend, for entrusting me with that. I could go on and on and bore you to tears with all the other planned and unexpected things that have come up between my last post and now, but the fact is - why? It's the holidays and we are all busier than usual. I am certainly not more busy than anyone else. The plain fact of the matter is: I'm a perfectionist.
As I sit here and look around at the home I am so blessed to call mine, at the beautiful and bountiful Christmas decorations that I am clearly (perhaps freakishly) obsessed with, I think, "I can't post pictures of this, it's just not quite right. If I only I had something else here or a little something else there, then it would be right...maybe." I took pictures a week or so ago in preparation for a new blog entry but was so disturbed that the photographs (and my photography skills) were not good enough to post. They made my home and my decorations look, alright. Nothing special. Certainly not like the design magazines and catalogs I pour over every chance I get. I can't post those. There is nothing 'glam' about them. It gave me pause to consider what I was really trying to achieve with my holiday decorating.
When I was little, Christmas felt like a magical time in my house. Somehow, my parents always found the most perfectly shaped Noble Fir. My mom would spend hours stringing the lights to such perfection that you couldn't see the wires, and then she would open the cedar chest and bring out the ornaments. They weren't particularly fancy, nothing crystal or silver, but they were dear - they were ornaments that were meaningful to a little set of eyes and to the memories that my parents worked hard to create for me. There were other decorations tucked away in the cedar chest: a collection of Santas; special red stained glass candle holders; a book of carols; our Christmas stockings; orange and lemon pomanders that my mom would make at night while we watched hockey on the television. And along with the decorations, there was the scent of Christmas...spicy, fresh, comforting. I've never been a morning person, but I remember those December mornings when my mom would usher me out of bed a little earlier than usual, wrap me up in a big quilt and sit me down on the sofa with a mug of cocoa - the house dark except for the lights on our tree. To me, it was beautiful, magical, and very special. And I think about what our home must look like to our little boys this time of year. Is it special for them? Because as much as my husband and I love Christmas and have always loved putting extra effort into preparing our home for the holidays, it's not just the two of us any longer. We're creating this wonderland for our children, too; so that they will also love and appreciate the magic of the season. Will they love it any more because we have five Christmas trees? No, I don't think so. And this very point could not have been made more clearly to me than it was this past Saturday evening.
After returning home from a holiday party, my in-laws explained to my husband and I that our oldest son, who is four, spent the majority of the evening decorating the Christmas tree in the guest room. My immediate reaction was panic. The rules are very clear in our house: children do not touch Christmas decorations! But, not wanting to completely lose my cool in front of my mother- and father-in-law, I stared dumbstruck as they explained just what had happened upstairs. I'm not even sure I heard their words as all I could think was, "How did this happen? He should know better!" Their last words to me were something about how Lincoln Logs might want to see a picture and use it in next year's ad campaign. After they left I ventured upstairs to survey the damage. What I saw when I turned the corner brought tears to my eyes.
There was his masterpiece. Photographs do not do it justice. I cannot possibly capture the scope and detail involved in the placement of my son's 'ornaments' with my paltry photography skills. He used every piece in his brother's new set of Lincoln Logs, including the yellow plastic windows, doors, and roofs. The black fishnet head wrap and plastic sword from his beloved pirate costume. A painted wooden spoon from last summer's music camp that was originally used as a drumstick. The stethoscope from his doctor's kit. A plastic screwdriver from last Christmas's tool bench. A wooden drumstick and box of pasta from the kitchen he and his brother received two Christmases ago. And lastly, the handmade mitten and tree garland I completed only a few days before Thanksgiving. Every item perfectly positioned, tenderly arranged. He used as ornaments things that are dear to him, toys that are beloved, the things that memories are made from. The next morning as he scampered into the guest room to look at his creation, I heard his daddy remind him that we don't touch decorations once they've been put on the tree. His tree has remained pristine for the past two days, and I occasionally catch he and his little brother sitting on the floor in front of it, clutching their blankets, gazing up at the lights. This is the stuff Christmas magic is made of and I am grateful to my little boy for reminding me of that.
Then, a little part of my design dreams came true. A girlfriend phoned to ask if I would be willing to purchase decor and then decorate her family's home for a holiday party! Heaven! It was a little window into my dream of becoming a full-time designer, and I loved every minute of it. Thank you, dear friend, for entrusting me with that. I could go on and on and bore you to tears with all the other planned and unexpected things that have come up between my last post and now, but the fact is - why? It's the holidays and we are all busier than usual. I am certainly not more busy than anyone else. The plain fact of the matter is: I'm a perfectionist.
As I sit here and look around at the home I am so blessed to call mine, at the beautiful and bountiful Christmas decorations that I am clearly (perhaps freakishly) obsessed with, I think, "I can't post pictures of this, it's just not quite right. If I only I had something else here or a little something else there, then it would be right...maybe." I took pictures a week or so ago in preparation for a new blog entry but was so disturbed that the photographs (and my photography skills) were not good enough to post. They made my home and my decorations look, alright. Nothing special. Certainly not like the design magazines and catalogs I pour over every chance I get. I can't post those. There is nothing 'glam' about them. It gave me pause to consider what I was really trying to achieve with my holiday decorating.
When I was little, Christmas felt like a magical time in my house. Somehow, my parents always found the most perfectly shaped Noble Fir. My mom would spend hours stringing the lights to such perfection that you couldn't see the wires, and then she would open the cedar chest and bring out the ornaments. They weren't particularly fancy, nothing crystal or silver, but they were dear - they were ornaments that were meaningful to a little set of eyes and to the memories that my parents worked hard to create for me. There were other decorations tucked away in the cedar chest: a collection of Santas; special red stained glass candle holders; a book of carols; our Christmas stockings; orange and lemon pomanders that my mom would make at night while we watched hockey on the television. And along with the decorations, there was the scent of Christmas...spicy, fresh, comforting. I've never been a morning person, but I remember those December mornings when my mom would usher me out of bed a little earlier than usual, wrap me up in a big quilt and sit me down on the sofa with a mug of cocoa - the house dark except for the lights on our tree. To me, it was beautiful, magical, and very special. And I think about what our home must look like to our little boys this time of year. Is it special for them? Because as much as my husband and I love Christmas and have always loved putting extra effort into preparing our home for the holidays, it's not just the two of us any longer. We're creating this wonderland for our children, too; so that they will also love and appreciate the magic of the season. Will they love it any more because we have five Christmas trees? No, I don't think so. And this very point could not have been made more clearly to me than it was this past Saturday evening.
After returning home from a holiday party, my in-laws explained to my husband and I that our oldest son, who is four, spent the majority of the evening decorating the Christmas tree in the guest room. My immediate reaction was panic. The rules are very clear in our house: children do not touch Christmas decorations! But, not wanting to completely lose my cool in front of my mother- and father-in-law, I stared dumbstruck as they explained just what had happened upstairs. I'm not even sure I heard their words as all I could think was, "How did this happen? He should know better!" Their last words to me were something about how Lincoln Logs might want to see a picture and use it in next year's ad campaign. After they left I ventured upstairs to survey the damage. What I saw when I turned the corner brought tears to my eyes.
There was his masterpiece. Photographs do not do it justice. I cannot possibly capture the scope and detail involved in the placement of my son's 'ornaments' with my paltry photography skills. He used every piece in his brother's new set of Lincoln Logs, including the yellow plastic windows, doors, and roofs. The black fishnet head wrap and plastic sword from his beloved pirate costume. A painted wooden spoon from last summer's music camp that was originally used as a drumstick. The stethoscope from his doctor's kit. A plastic screwdriver from last Christmas's tool bench. A wooden drumstick and box of pasta from the kitchen he and his brother received two Christmases ago. And lastly, the handmade mitten and tree garland I completed only a few days before Thanksgiving. Every item perfectly positioned, tenderly arranged. He used as ornaments things that are dear to him, toys that are beloved, the things that memories are made from. The next morning as he scampered into the guest room to look at his creation, I heard his daddy remind him that we don't touch decorations once they've been put on the tree. His tree has remained pristine for the past two days, and I occasionally catch he and his little brother sitting on the floor in front of it, clutching their blankets, gazing up at the lights. This is the stuff Christmas magic is made of and I am grateful to my little boy for reminding me of that.
3 comments:
What a wonderful story! The 3 week absence of your posts was well worth that.
That is one of the most touching stories I've ever heard and a good reminder to all perfection- oriented people like me to take a step back and remember what Christmas is really about. Thank you for making my day. :)
What a great story....add that one to another thing you can do with Lincoln logs.
Mickey
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