I woke up this morning with the wild and crazy idea of getting out my holiday decorations and just going nuts all over the place. I rolled over to Jason, bat my eyelashes and asked him sweetly, “Would you please get the Christmas stuff out for me today?”
His jaw flexed slightly as he stared at me with my eyes wide open in earnest adoration. And though he didn’t say yes, he did ask, “How on earth do you do that?”
Feminine wiles, my darling. I don’t think I ever used them before I got married, but sometimes, mostly when it comes to heavy lifting, I drag them out of their own hiding place to stretch their legs and work their magic.
I don’t want to overuse them and risk rendering them worthless, but I do sometimes appreciate how much I can affect my partner with a little flutter and smile when it comes to lifting heavy things from bug-ridden places.
And he knows it. I know it. It’s an unspoken agreement that I, for one, am grateful for.
Out he trotted the Christmas tree. The tree is a new-to-us, albeit similar version of what we had previously. Only it has multicolored lights, and this year I had decided I wanted more COLOR. As luck would have it, my aunt happened to be discarding one, so we happily took it off her hands.
The tree lights were something of an enigma. Still are actually. They were such a pain that they were almost reminiscent of my childhood tree-lighting memories where my dad would work to get the strands on the tree in just the right away, and it always ended with him yelling and wearing a scowl for the rest of the evening. Ah, the holidays.
So today, eventually, it was only by sheer will that we managed to get the tree lit. I’m still not sure what we did to get it to be just right, but we won’t be tempting fate in any way by trying to figure it out further.
So the tree lit, now came the hard part.
Every year during holiday decorating time, I have to rearrange my living room to make room for the tree, so that I don’t leave a me-shaped hole in the side of the house at the end of the season when my mind goes simply mad from what feels like wall-to-wall twinkling lights.
This is about the time when Jason starts twitching because he HATES it when I feel the need for change because it, again, involves heavy lifting, of which he is not a fan.
I gave suggestions, and we tugged this and pulled that and shifted here and positioned there, and this went on for an hour or so. And, oh, by the way, since that’s pulled out, why don’t we just vacuum and mop that area because I think that ball of fuzz right there just winked at me and waved.
In the middle of the chaos, I quietly let it out that I’d also been thinking about moving my office to the back room and putting the dining room table in the office room and using the front room for its intended purposes. I had been really sitting on this idea for a solid week, but it wasn’t until my house was a maze of missing socks, rolled-up carpet and furniture that I decided my idea was a go.
Timing is everything.
By now Jason’s twitch had become more of a full-body spasm. His mouth was set firmly into a grim, thin line, and the wrinkles on his forehead soon became cavernous and steely. Only he just said he would because we have an understanding. I only do this four times a year or so, and he… well, he wastes his birthday and shooting star wishes on fruitless dreams that I’ll learn to be happy with a static household arrangement.
This was all well and good, and I was prepared to work my booty off to get everything restored to its new, glorious order, until I remembered my mom had a get-together tonight for a group of people from church, and we were supposed to grab something from town for her and head over to her house for some last-minute preparations.
So, house uprooted and torn apart, at 1:20 p.m. we all put our shoes on and walked out the door.
We just walked back into the house after being gone all day at 11:15 p.m. My desk is in front of the kitchen sink. My computer tower is on my dining room table in what was my office. The living room chairs are shoved in a far corner of the room. The basket of laundry waiting to be folded is teetering on the edge of an off-kilter couch. The TV is disconnected and blank. Cords and cables are strewn across the living room. My office chair is in the back room. Another living room armchair is in front of the stove. My house is utter and total chaos, and I am so tired I can barely think, so I will be heading to bed shortly.
But the tree? It’s conspicuously naked but lit and nestled snuggly in the corner it was put in at the beginning of this crazy day for fear the lights will jostle the cord menagerie and risk it not lighting again.
Don’t you just love the holidays?