Oh, Christmas Tree...

I feel a lot of things when I look at our Christmas tree. A real medley of emotions. Clearly, I feel joy, because the holiday season is truly upon us now and I love everything that it brings. But I also feel an array of other stuff, too. I feel contentment, because the ‘hard part’ is done and now we get to enjoy it. I feel cozy and comfy, because who can resist the warm glow of Christmas lights? And I even feel a little bit of snark and frustration, because my well-intentioned husband might have trimmed a few too many branches from the bottom of the tree and now it’s stumpy-looking and a bit lopsided. Whatever you do, don’t look at the lower right of the tree. Too late. You just did, right? Dammit.

This is the sixteenth married Christmas that Handsome Pants and I have shared. These Christmases have spanned six homes in five states and we weren’t even together for all of them. This year we should be together, but we know what it feels like to celebrate Christmas not only in separate time zones but also on opposite sides of the globe. And even still, none was less special than the last.

For the first twelve Christmases, we had an artificial tree. That’s what I had growing up and it just felt right. We bought a beautiful one our first Christmas in Ohio and it lived in four living rooms after that. Each year, it would show a little bit more of its age. Some lights would blow here, some branches would bend there, and while HP lovingly doctored and fixed it, he’d swear the following year would be the year we finally got a real tree. And I’d patronize him with a wink and a nod, but all-the-while rest in the knowledge that I’d always get my way. I’ve told you what a brat I can be…

In 2015, we got news that we would be moving back to the Northeast. More specifically, to Massachusetts, and intertwined with our excitement was an eager proclamation from Handsome Pants: He decreed that if we were going back to New England, then we would need to get a real tree. It was the right thing to do, after all. So, I agreed. Maybe it was the high of knowing we were moving somewhere we had always dreamed of going. Or maybe it was the telltale Christmas spirit seeping into my soul, but for whatever reason, I took leave of my senses and agreed to bring a live tree into our home. And most days, I still can’t believe it.

We bought our first house in Massachusetts and that alone gave us the greatest sense of pride. We lovingly decorated our home for Christmas that year and bought the biggest, fullest Christmas tree we could find. Our living room could barely contain it, but we didn’t care. That beautiful creature was going right in the middle of our bay window for all the world to see. And much to my surprise, I fell in love with it. I marveled at its smell and was dazzled by the nuances of its branches. And even as I was watering it daily and swept its needles more often than I thought possible, I knew I was hooked. I knew I was a ‘Real Tree Girl’ for the rest of my days.

I’m in charge of caring for the tree and this includes putting the lights on it each year. One minor detail that I never knew until my 35th year is that I’m allergic to pine. But as a control freak, I simply cannot relinquish control on stringing the lights ‘just so’. I sneeze and sniffle my way through the job each year with fingers so sappy that I could tear my skin if I’m not careful, but still, I do it because I love the end result. I step back about a dozen times and evaluate from every angle and even buy more lights if the mood strikes me. And once I’m happy, I call the rest of the family in to decorate it.

We have a tradition of collecting ornaments from every place we live and every location we travel to. So, over all these years, that’s a myriad of ornaments. But every year we make room. We shuffle and shift and maybe squeeze too many onto not enough branches, but we still make it work. People who know us best know of this tradition, so they bring us ornaments, too, and we work them into the rich tapestry.

And, oh, the memories... so many memories. Of different places, spaces and times. It’s always my job to unpack the ornaments and hand them off to the kids and HP to hang. And as I take each one out, we recount the story that goes along with it. And now, because the kids are bigger, they eagerly tell the stories, too. There are the obligatory childhood ornaments from Handsome Pants and me, and the ‘First Christmas’ ornaments for Pup and Blu. And then there are ornaments that represent inside jokes, hobbies, travels far and wide, and even crystal ornaments that we splurged on before other expenses in life took precedent. I’m always surprised how long those crystal ornaments have survived and credit their placement for that feat. When the babies were small, we hung those ornaments high and out of reach of tiny hands. And as the kids grew, those ornaments descended down the tree in a dance that marks the swift passage of time in the most bittersweet of ways. Seeing them at eye level and lower now shows me just how much our children have grown. Sunrise, sunset…

Decorating our tree takes hours, and sometimes feels chaotic and tedious, but when it’s done, the reward is incredible. We’re left with something that fills my heart with magic and my senses with joy. I’m so enamored by our eclectic tree and I look forward to seeing how we add to it over the years. How many more ornaments will we accumulate? How many more homes will we dwell in? And how many more priceless memories will we make? Only time will tell, but I, for one, cannot wait. This tree is the story of our lives, and what an incredible story it is.