Before I start the post (I guess, technically, it's already started, but, just go with it), I should probably throw out a disclaimer. I love where I am right now in life. I love my husband more than the average high schooler is in love with Lil Wayne or Ke$ha (seriously? Ke$ha???). My daughter is a barrel on monkeys, and so much more fun. But...
So last night, we were busting out the Christmas decorations. I LOVE this time of the year (even if Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday and I refuse to move on to Christmas until the wishbone has been snapped and the football played, I LOVE this time of year). But, it wasn't cheerful. It wasn't full of our traditional "Elf" followed by rockin' some Christmas tunes, all while sprinkling holiday cheer all throughout the house, including the back of the toilet (yeah, that's right. If you're gonna sit on my toilet, you're gonna enjoy some Yuletide cheer while doing so).
We went to pick out our tree from the local home improvement store. And, I felt rushed. Which is NOT cool.
For those of you that may sport the faux tree, you probably don't fully understand the task of picking a real tree. I'm not knockin' you at all. I simply mean that if your tree is a little bare in one area, you can bend the metal infused branches and voila! Your tree is full!
For those of us that opt for a
Picking a tree? A LONG process, often involving multiple men to hold the 10-foot-trees side by side, turning, modeling, trading trees, moving to the 8 footers, turning, swapping, switching, looking, leaving, coming back, wash, rinse and repeat. That's the way I roll.
But, last night, not so much. The hubs insists that he was not trying to pressure me into "picking a stupid tree and leaving" (quotes mine). And, I believe him. However, even if it wasn't his intention to pressure me, his demeanor, along with the snotty-nosed whining kiddo that was trying to climb up her daddy's leg, caused me to make a hasty choice. Let me just add that it is a good thing that I had great friends in high school whose only "pressures" on me involved participating in some dumb skit (say, dancing to NKOTB on video) or buying matching shoes (yeah, I was a nerd.). Actually, who am I kidding? I love NKOTB even to this day.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. The tree. Which, is currently still on my front porch because I didn't get enough cleaned to bring it in last night. But, what's my point (I'm actually asking myself the same thing. Right.Now.)
The point is, as I was unpacking the Christmas tubs, I was thinking "what IN THE BEAUTIFUL WIDE WORLD convinced me that this was beautiful decoration? I'm not a fan." Last night, I felt ashamed to decorate my house with said decorations.
Like I said before, I LOVE my hubs. And he is totally a kid at heart, which warms my soul. Just the other night, he was laughing so hard at Home Alone, I seriously thought he was going to stop breathing. I really do love it. Many of our Christmas decorations reflect our youth, and the excitement that comes with the season. We have very colorful, glittery, Santas all over the house. We've got partially melted snowmen, nutcrackers, nativity scenes with little children as the characters (actually, now that I think about it, those are a little more disturbing than simply being tacky).
My tastes have changed. I think I'm finally growing up! I'm beginning to like classic decorations like burlap and lace. And white lights that don't blink. And having a CLEAN house! And Willow People, of course:
Beautiful, no? I like the simple things, without a lot of sparkles.
And I felt horribly guilty. Because I felt like it meant that I was not thankful for what I have. WHICH IS NOT THE CASE. Our current decor is very special to me, as it was collected during our first years of marriage and is very representative of where we were at the time. But, I think it's time I finally grew up. And, I understand that just like my tastes didn't change overnight, I'm not going to get where I want to be quickly either. I've got to look to a very wise man for direction:
I got it one piece at a time,
and it didn't cost me a dime.
Thank you so much for that advice, Johnny Cash. I'll take it (minus the whole stealing a car one piece at a time). Oh, and, I'll pay for it.
So, I invite you to join me on this journey. This journey of shedding my glittery Santa figurines (along with my Aeropostal clothes, which, it happens to be pretty embarrassing when you are wearing the same shirt that one of your middle school students is wearing) and stepping into a more clean, classic holiday look. Basically, it's finally time for me to put on my big girl pants.
Shall we continue?