Once upon a time, I spent every available December moment playing with twinkly lights and glitter and glue and trees and ornaments and spray snow and ESPECIALLY twinkly lights. If there was a surface to be decorated, I found it. I conquered it. I loved every minute of it.
Now, just two weeks before Christmas, I look around and can't believe my eyes. There are railings without garland. There are shrubs and trees that are naked. There are ornaments in plastic tubs. There are lawn decorations still in their boxes. IT'S HORRIFYING.
I can't believe how little is decorated, especially outside. I don't even recognize myself.
I remember thinking years ago how fantastic it would be to be a child growing up in our house during the holidays. In my mind, the Christmas tree isn't sufficiently lit if you can't read by the glow of the twinkly lights. The yard isn't done until fuses start blowing when you flick a switch. Our house has always been so obnoxiously festive that it looked like a kid HAD to have been involved with the decorating.
And then we had Alexis and I figured out a little something.
The people who manage to decorate enough to fulfill every child's holiday decorating dreams are the people WHO DON'T HAVE KIDS. Once you have kids to deal with, there just isn't time for all of those shenanigans.
Or at least that's my excuse.
