You know how all these people seem to be able to have this heartwarming tradition of decorating the Christmas tree as a family?
Yeah, me either.
This was a harrowing, sweat-inducing experience, fraught with danger and suspense as to which irreplaceable keepsake would be dropped, stepped on, or decapitated next. Every 30 seconds, I heard, "Uh-oh" or "Whoops".
Ever since we've had crawlers or walkers in the house, our tree has been naked from the waist down. I know, we could have set it up in a playpen or told the kids they couldn't touch it, but we like our trees out in the main area so we can sit by the glow of the lights and a crackling fire and sip hot chocolate.
On Saturday, I brought home a box of candy canes, thinking we could make reindeer out of them on Sunday. As usual, the kids had other plans in the form of breaking every. single. one of them. All in a matter of 15 minutes.
In literature, it's called foreshadowing. In horror movies, the music picks up tempo and you yell, "Don't go in there!" We should have known decorating with real, delicate, keepsake ornaments would not go well.
Will thinks the tree is just a giant toy box. Sarah thinks it's crooked. I think it needs more ornaments, now that we're decorating the whole thing these days.
So, I have been putting the kids to work on various handmade ornaments.
We strung beads onto pipe cleaners for some pretty little snowflakes.
We made a whole stable full of clothespin reindeer, complete with stick-on googly-eyes and cheery red noses. Will refuses to let me hang his on the tree.
We've also got some salt-dough creations in the works, and we hung Eddie's sequin disco balls up as well. Mike has requested some photo ornaments, and the kids want to paint their own breakable ornaments. So, we should have our tree nice and tacky just about the time Santa squeezes down the chimbley.