One year as repatriated Portlanders and our first Christmas in our house ... it can only mean going completely over the top for the holidays, right?
So I spent $70 on LED outdoor lights and pimped the evergreen cherry trees out front, bought Sophie an advent calendar and gingerbread house, had personalized stockings made, and we bought our tree this week.
And, after decorating the tree Thursday morning with Sophie, I so wanted to do a shot of anything above 5% alcohol in the house. Until I remembered that it would spike my breastmilk too.
As kids, this was the bestest most awesome time of the year. I felt no stress and only the highest level of happiness.
But, as a mom of two, all this Christmas crap can be pretty stressful.
For example, I grabbed the gingerbread house at Trader Joes while grocery shopping alone. Sophie spotted it in my bag as soon as I arrived home and HAD TO MAKE IT THAT VERY MINUTE. I told her that maybe we could do it after dinner. But that window between after dinner and bedtime is barely cracked, and I still had to make the icing for it. I put aside my dreams for a cosy, quiet evening, and the two of us made it. And I actually have to admit that once we started, it was fun. She got really into it, and she's really proud of her decorating work. (Yes, she did most of it herself.)
And the tree? Oh it was a fun two hours of telling Sophie not to play with the delicate, highly breakable ornaments only to turn around and see her clutching them. In retrospect, I don't know why I was so freaked out by it. I think it could be a good thing if those suckers broke so I could replace them with indestructible felt ones or something. And, while Mathis provided some strong background music in the form of baby shrieking for most of the time, it's nice to look at now. I love how the lights sparkle against all the glass French doors and make the place sparklier.
Wait, I think I am on to something ... Christmas is most enjoyable when everything is done. In that case, I am dreaming of the moment when we have finished our Christmas feast, all toys bought and opened, and Lewis grabs me for a sweep-me-off-my-feet smooch under the felt mistletoe.