This year, the only thing standing between ME and CHRISTMAS DECOR was a triple threat: dustbunnies, molding dishes, and a bathtub you could grow a culture in. Doesn't that seem like a trifecta worth embellishing?
But LSis insisted I attempt to approximate My Life as a Grown-up, and dragged me to Garden Ridge. Whereupon I decided, like a 3-year-old, that I wanted a yellow-and-brown Christmas tree. Because I am strange, and easily drawn to shiny things.
In this case that meant a thick, embossed yellow ribbon.
Two weeks later. Life and laziness conspired to keep my tree in the shed, encased in a box covered in unidentified droppings, but I finally managed to brave the broad expanse of yard and drag the disintegrating tree coffin to the house.
LSis FORCED ME to spend money (gasp!), yielding the brown ornaments I'd hoped for, and some irresistible accompaniments:
blushing beige hydrangeas
and (possibly my favorites) stern, snow-white owls.
LSis and I embarked on a comedy of errors to string the lights
LSis: Aw, man. We put these lights on backwards.
KFin: Wait, why? Do they have to hook together?
Someone needs to check the warranty on my brain.)
but finally got things a-blinking.
Ultimately, I think the whole thing came together nicely. I was really pleased, and far happier than I was with my half-hearted purple-and-silver decor of the past two years.
Now I spend most nights cocooned on the sofa, lights off, watching the twinkle and feeling happy in the silence.
J found the whole experience a bit stressful (SYNTHETIC FLORA IS TERRIFYING).
But he's finding that yoga helps.