It's traditional in my family to gripe about Christmas: decorating, cleaning, shopping, baking, gift-giving.
Since Q became large enough to have an inkling of what was going on, I have grown decreasingly prone to gripe. He loves it so... So much that when people casually offer me their leftover Christmas decorations, I actually agree cheerfully to take them. Each layer of sentimental adornment on our home escalates Q's pure delight. And how can you resist that?
I realized the other night that in addition to a fairly ridiculous accumulation of decorations hanging heavy on the boughs of our home (Thank you by the way! They look great!), we have an unacknowledged tradition which is entirely my husband's brain child. Since J is being dragged with loud cries of protest into holiday cheer, it was a bit of a surprise when I realized what has developed.
A few years ago, J had a cool idea to recreate a feather Christmas trees (see: Feather Christmas Trees) out of, essentially, sticks with lights strung around them. We stuck it into a large can filled with rocks. My description cannot do it justice.
The next year, J was dissatisfied with simply restoring the little tree to its place in the living room. Much to my disapproval, he disassembled it, and the Frankenstein Tree was restored as a flat Christmas tree to hang on the wall. Cute. No, really. And less work than trying to keep the Feather Tree upright.
This year, J enlisted Q's assistance and they abandoned the sticks altogether.
I think you can see our living room from a block away. And I'm not griping at all.