Last year was Minimalist Christmas. I was eight months pregnant so we had a tree with--if I'm being charitable--about two strands of lights and one bunting on it.
This year is Colorful Christmas. I got out anything that wasn't white. And if it had glitter, it got moved to the top of the list.
Next year will be Don't-Put-Out-Anything-Remotely-Breakable-Because-of-Two-Small-Children Christmas.
To everything there is a season.
I have fond memories of my mom's decorations at Christmas time.
It was not uncommon for her to make us tromp through the snow with her, plowing through our 1/10 mile long rows of evergreens, trimming boughs to use throughout the house.
The freezing part wasn't so great, but the smell of a house covered in live evergreen made up for it.
But one of my favorite memories is of my parents putting the Christmas tree in its stand.
Dad was laying on the floor covered in pine needles, asking whether he needed to move the tree to the right or left.
Mom was standing at the back of the room, asking him to move it a smidge this way and a tad that way.
Eventually Dad would announce that she was done fussing with it and call it good, whether she was okay with it or not.
And somehow it was always--magically--straight.
My farmer and I like to go through this routine ourselves, just for old times' sake.
Side note: If you meet a man who brings you antlers he found in a field, I recommend at least letting him take you out to supper.
Those kinds of guys aren't easy to come by, you know.
Christmas Eves were the best. As I got older and my sisters and their husbands used up all the bedrooms in our little farmhouse, I was relegated to the couch, which meant that the last thing I saw every Christmas Eve was the glow of white lights and my mom's vintage Christmas ornaments sparkling as a result.
At least, I think that's what it was. When you have bad eyesight like me and take your glasses off, you can't ever be too sure.
So this year, as we pace ourselves through Advent, remembering our deliberate march through the Church Year in anticipation of Christ's second coming, we are celebrating with all the smells and colors and sights we can find.
And maybe someday, when she is grown up, she'll have equally lovely memories of her house at Christmastime: live evergreens, crooked trees, her Savior and all.