Christmas Clutter

Saturday marked the first weekend in December and officially the last day of the Holiday season when I can consider the effort of decorating to be worth the amount of time left before Christmas.  Maybe I typed that backward, it doesn't read right. 

Anyway, it was time to fight my way through the clutter and cold to those boxes in the attic.  I love pulling out Christmas decor.  If I repeat it to myself, I'll believe it, right?  But still, I just couldn't bring myself to add more chaos to our already disorderly and dirty house.  I made a deal with the kids: "You guys help me clean up the downstairs (just this one measly old floor, not even the toy room, bedrooms, or basement!) and then we'll get the Christmas stuff out."

They were more than willing. 

First, though, we had to watch some cool videos on YouTube.  We got stuck in a lineup of tiny home clips.  Like this:

And this:

I am fascinated by the minute dwellings.  I mean, how easy would it be to decorate this place for Christmas?  Even more exciting, I bet I could clean it top to bottom in 30 minutes. Brand Spanking New Looking for minutes every day. {Side Note: check out the origins of your favorite phrase and thank me for the lovely little diversion.}

OK. So those little videos did nothing to make our abode more festive (or cleaner), so it was time to get to work. And then to adorning.  I won't bore you with the details of our cleaning spree or the mom lectures delivered on-site throughout the process.  Somehow, between dancing to Christmas songs (them) and vacuuming under the couches (me) to breaks for dress-up (them) and nursing GBaby (me) and laying on the couch (them, again) we got most of our downstairs clean. 
Boxes lugged.  Contents strewn.  Discoveries remade.

In my mind, the perfect Christmas trimming scene is something like this: A fire in the hearth, Bing, Frank and Nat fill the air with old-timey songs while a mugs of peppermint cocoa sits near by.  Hints of fresh pine waft from our potted tree, and I hum along with the music as I artfully arrange each meaningful ornament.  The children don't fuss or break ornaments or grow bored and tired of the chore delightful task before it is finished.

Have we discussed that I'm not perfect here? 
OK, good. Then we don't have to go over that again.

I still have boxes of decorations sitting out in my living room.  (Excuse: We haven't purchased our tree yet, so we could neither put away the ornaments nor hang them upon the highest bough.)
The children's stockings are hung with tacky push-pins. (Excuse: It is pretty hard to come by a set of FIVE anything, let alone stocking hangers, let alone FIVE stocking hangers that are pleasant to look at and don't cost a few of my childrens' arms and legs.)
My unfinished wreath is sitting on a dining room chair, not the front door. (Excuse: Um. I'm out of excuses.)

Does it seem like I constantly post confessions of imperfections?  Someday, surely, I will get my act together and pull off something impressive.  With a camera that works.  But it's not looking like it will happen this Christmas season.  I could feel lousy about this.  Instead, I'm taking encouragement from one of the first embellishments to make it out of the boxes:

This is The Man's favorite contribution to our Holiday celebration.  I like it because he likes it.  And also because it reminds me that the trappings of this Christmas time are mostly burdens I pile upon my own back.  If he were home this evening (and not doing a disgusting activity that I will not even dirty my blog by discussing here except to say that it's initials are "Butchering" and "Deer") he would totally approve of me relaxing in front of a movie instead of perfecting the homeyness around me. 
I married the right guy.
That's why we have babies.
And they're why we have a ginormous house that doesn't clean or decorate quickly.
*sigh*
I'm one blessed {if inadequate} girl. 
Because, really, what would be the point of decorating for Christmas and then sitting around for a lonely cup of coffee? Right? 



Well, maybe I could just have one of those tiny homes for a few hours each week.  Sometimes a solitary cup of coffee isn't so lonely.