As my Instagram feed filled up with Christmas trees come the first weekend in December, I must admit that it made me feel terribly grumpy and not in the least bit festive. And I say this as somebody who loves Christmas. I remember a time when people who
were mad enough to put their decorations up on 1st December were interviewed on the local news for goodness sake – when did it become the norm? And in actual fact it all felt terribly competitive for the most part – what is the hurry people? No for me the start of December means remembering to get out the advent calendar not decking the halls. Slow and steady build ups are the way for me.
But by last weekend, I must admit that I was itching to get the decorations up. What a difference a week makes, huh? But of course, this being real life meant that it wasn’t quite so simple. Last weekend was one of those weekends where everybody was in different places at different times so it was never going to happen. And with the rest of December looking much the same, we grabbed the chance to get our decorations out last Monday because for once, we were all correct and present and who knew when that would happen again. But then we remembered that we were supposed to be Skyping the outlaws that evening as we had forgotten to do it on Sunday as promised. Oh and the Wednesday before that. Ahem. Real life folks. This is my forgetful reality.
So anyway on we plodded and I say plodded because we spent more time ohh-ing and ahh-ing over favourite old decorations as they came out of the boxes than we did actually decorating. It’s a job that we have always done together and it is actually one of my favourite days of the year. Saying that, this is the first year that my fourteen year old daughter really wasn’t feeling it. And by that I mean she had to be fireman lifted out of her bedroom to be forced to do it with us! Nothing like a bit of forced family fun! Ha! I laugh but actually it made me terribly sad that she really didn’t want to help. I didn’t think that day would come so soon.
This year, for the first time in such a long time, we didn’t get a real tree for our main tree in the living room. I know how silly this sounds but it was actually a huge decision to get a fake tree this year but it was a head over heart thing. I adore real Christmas trees but for the last five years, we have had complete duds. Bald by Christmas Day and still finding pine needles in September duds. So after much agonising I spent hours trying to choose the perfect fake tree knowing that actually, it would never compare to the real deal. So imagine my delight when breaking off from our decorating to Skype the outlaws when they promptly congratulated us on having a proper tree for once. Sigh. This cemented the fact that I should have gone for the completely impractical far too big needle dropping real live spruce and I wanted to throw this artificial thing out of the window there and then. I didn’t of course. But I had definitely reached that point of being completely over the whole decorating thing. The tree looked crap by default of the outlaws loving it. The garlands on the curtains weren’t hanging right. The cats were already swinging on the garlands that took me ages to fix to the staircase. Oh and I had two very tired little ones to get to bed. Life behind the Instagram filter, eh?
So get the little ones to bed I did. I came back downstairs with a big heavy sigh that the lovely evening that I had envisioned hadn’t quite gone to plan and I still had decorating to do even though I really wasn’t feeling it any more. But during that hour upstairs with the girls, there had been a little Christmas magic. Mr Mostly had come to the rescue with the help of our lovely long legged boy (he is taller than me now – when did that happen?) I couldn’t have loved them more than I did in that very minute. It was all done and dusted. And just perfect. That warm and fuzzy festive feeling was well and truly restored.