My house is completely decorated for the holidays. My kids did it all. I must say, nothing says Christ The Savior is born like a giant, blow up snow globe in the front yard. I don’t believe the party has started until someone drives by the front of your house and thinks, white trash. I’m joking, but not about my kids going crazy.
There are lights EVERYWHERE inside and out. It’s insane. It’s fun. It’s probably a fire hazzard.
I walk into rooms and find beads that are supposed to be on the tree around the toilet, bows that were supposed to be out on the porch hanging from my mantel, stockings hung not by the chimney with care, but on the tree itself as well as a sprinkling of Christmas tchatchkies here, there and everywhere.
They couldn’t decide on a tree topper so we have two: A large Santa Clause and a star are duking it out for top billing. I was told that the garland was attached to the tree, cowboy style. Which means that my daughter threw it around the tree the way one would attempt to rope a calf at a rodeo.
I believe there’s a table cloth thrown over bench on the landing above my front door and the rest of the porch decorations have been strewn about up there. Oh, and there are outdoor icicle lights up on the wall as well.
They had a great time. They surprised me by doing it when I was out for the evening and saved me from a ton of work. I do have to put all of the boxes down in the basement, but I think I can swing that. I’m glad they are old enough to help and that I’m old enough to not insist that our house look like a Norman Rockwell painting. Now I’m free to focus on the stuff I enjoy like planning my Christmas menu and digging out my copy of the Vince Guaraldi Trio’s A Charlie Brown Christmas to play while I wrap (as in gifts not rhyming).
So I guess we’ve officially started a new tradition with the kids actively helping with the decorating process. I can only imagine the explosion of color and fertility symbols come Easter.