Just Let Me Frock You, Dammit

 I believe that I complain write about this every year.  I don't understand what it is about this house that denies Christmas decorations.  It feels like the house actually shrugs the stuff off of itself, like a scratchy wool sweater.  I swear I can hear it sigh in resignation.  When decorations fall, I just mutter "I know" into the ether.

I don't get it.  It's CHRISTMAS.  Why is this house so Scrooge McDuck?

Our old house was old.  Old and tired.  But it PREENED in Christmas decorations.  This house is like Ralphie in the bunny suit:

(Also, we are ignoring that I bear a resemblance to Ralphie)

I have culled decorations that no longer hold meaning or fit in this house.  I've bought new/previously loved decorations.  I've tried going old school with scenes using figurines and decorations, and going magazine style with multi-purposing decorations.  

I browse through the pinterest and magazines to see easy, simple ways to decorate.  I've gone with ample use of bead garlands, lights, and ornaments used as decorations.  I use holiday color - not themed - table runners and place mats. The requisite candles. Holiday air freshener.  Lights. Lots of lights.

Kevin is of no help. He doesn't enjoy clutter so this holiday is challenging to him. He just doesn't want to be punched in the nose by Santa in his own home.  Or have extraneous noise like bells on the doors. That being said, he just doesn't care as long as I'm happy.

So then I was thinking.  The Moody House - the parents old house - was decorated to the rafters.  There wasn't a surface that wasn't Santa-tized. (see what I did there?)  Maybe that's why he doesn't enjoy it. 

 

Then I thought about my parents house.  My dad had a propensity for Charlie Brown Christmas Trees.  You think I'm kidding and I am so not. Tall, spindly, thin, widely space branches.  I can't find a photo except this one:

The random branch is indicative of the ENTIRE TREE

 My mom decorated the living room and the kitchen.  She went for more of a vignette style; sled with reindeers with "snow", nativity scene, candles.  You can see the sculpture of Mary next to my brother's elbow.  I vaguely remember it but am very surprised it was allowed by my dad.  But it's next to a nativity scene so there's that.

I guess, then, that I'm a happy medium between both of the moms in our family.  But our tree is almost always epic:

7.5 feet

And maybe.  Just maybe, I overthink it too much.  

Like this.  The configuration of the candles along the bathtub make me go "Hmmm" every time I look at them:

Different types, styles, and sizes. The OCD is intrigued.

It also has to be said that upon beginning to write this, I was in a FULL MOOD.  Mood like "Stop narcing out Mommy, Michael Jackson" to the Sirius/XM Christmas channel.  Mood like took a nap.  Mood like Ralphie's expression above.

Oh and while we're at it.  Here is proof of the resemblance:

The photographer called me "Peaches".
Don't call me Peaches.