I do love Christmas so much. The whole thing. I love all the busy, all the shopping, all the ridiculous. I love that our tree looks like it got really dressed up and then fell down a solid flight of stairs. I love that I knew what I was going for this year, but instantly had to let it go when I opened the ornament boxes. Five children, all hands in. Tree decorated in possibly 4 minutes. Every last ornament on. No theme, no balance, no sense of enough is enough. I wouldn’t be surprised if there were some Christmas throw pillows in there. The day after we got it decorated, Titus accidentally leapt off the arm of the chair next to it straight into the branches. He slid past several ornaments and four rounds of recklessly applied garlands, making a solid selection of the decor on the right side of the tree look rather adrift and certainly droopy.
I love sharpies (I don’t listen, don’t bother to warn me about them) for writing names. So fast. Not fiddly. Come in good colors.
I love that Blaire prefers the bows for brooches, and removes them with haste from all presents that she notices.
I am relieved that I am almost done with Blaire’s stocking, all but the toe and the holly berries. I love that this picture captures the droopy tree, the enormous advent calendar, the stocking, and the wild party animal that is Blaire. The double-point needles that she stabbed into my yarn in a gesture of goodwill. Most of all, I love Christmas for kids. I love doing things that are outrageously tacky because the kids will love it. Like maybe stringing a full string of FLASHING Christmas lights across the kids’ table at Sabbath dinner. We want them to feel like we are really classy, you know?