An Eloise-ish Christmas
This is our first Christmas in our new-to-us house and our first Christmas with our eldest child having flown the coop via marriage. So the routine is a little different now. Decorating the tree, for instance. For years, my husband has been in charge of assembling our big, phony tree and stringing the lights on it, and then I take over, with or without help from the kids, to add the ornaments. Well, hubby has been busy. A few days ago, he got as far as putting the tree up but no farther. And the boys didn’t take the hint when I suggested that they are as tall as their father and just as capable of stringing lights.
So I tackled it, standing on a chair. Huh. It’s harder than it looks. I was careful to space the lights evenly on the first three or four go-rounds, near the top. Then I added the tree-topper, a red glass spire that looks Dr. Seuss-ish, especially with a strand of gold glitzy stuff spiraled around it that I added as a joke a few years ago, but it was popular so I left it. And maybe it was the Seuss touch that set me off, but when I moved the chair out of the way and started on the lower realms of the tree, I started having fun.
Like Eloise at Christmastime. Anybody remember the Eloise books? She’s a fictional six-year-old who lives in the Plaza Hotel in NYC, makes up funny words, and drives the neighbors crazy with her energy. She skippers and skibbles around the apartment and strews Christmas decorations everywhere, even on thermostats and probably on the dog. Because Eloise really knows how to celebrate. With enthusiasm.
Okay, so I did an Eloise-ish job on the lights. They’re sort of looped and strewn instead of neatly arranged. But you know what? Christmas isn’t about perfection, at least not in mortal man.
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