Oh, Christmas Tree, Oh, Christmas Tree

Anyone who has known me for my entire life would know that I've changed somewhat over the years. I've been skinnier and fatter, then even skinnier, then the fattest, then somewhat thinner, and then somewhat fatter again. But that's not what I mean. I used to be a control freak. I don't even know if people around me knew that, because I'm also a people pleaser. So perhaps you could have called me subtlety controlling. (They probably have therapy for that, and I'm almost certain that is a key characteristic for most criminal masterminds, but I digress.)

I don't really know what has changed. I think getting married and having a family. I have learned that getting my way really doesn't matter, because there are more important things to worry about like mouths to feed, noses and butts to wipe and whether or not I will even get a shower today, or tomorrow for that matter.

I have one last strong hold, however. I have not quite released the last sliver of control over that tiny part of my life. I feel somewhat like Chris Farley clinging to the little stick on the side of the mountain in Black Sheep. "Stay strong, little branch" I'm clinging, but I know it's in vain. the signs are everywhere... actually at the bottom... of my Christmas tree...

My husband learned after the first year of marriage that the Christmas tree is my deal. He can contribute after, and only after, all lights are properly affixed, branches sufficiently fluffed and ribbons and bows and key ornaments are arranged. When the word is given, he might be allowed to hang a few non-vital ornaments, but with full understanding that I always maintain the right to rearrange ornaments to create the perfect ratio of colors, size and balance for the over all aesthetics of the tree.

Then I had Grant.... and Grant takes after his mother and is also a control freak. So the branch began to loosen from the side of the mountain and my grasp on it suddenly became a futile effort, and I began to realize that my tree was no longer mine.... but ours...

As Grant gets taller and taller, so does his impact on the tree. This year it is quite a juxtaposition… kind of like Kate Gosselin's hair. You know, all business in the front, and party in the back. This is more like a clash of Martha Stewart meets the Griswalds.

The top of the tree is just lovely. I can look at it all day. Look at the combination of antique ornaments, ribbon, new ornaments, flowers and the play of the tiny twinkle lights and larger bulbs. Just perfection.

Then the further down the tree you go, the tree loses its chance for the blue ribbon from Southern Living Magazine. There are no glass or antique ornaments down there for obvious reasons. Grant has all 6 of his ornaments for each year of his life hanging on one branch. He doesn't care about section 4.2b of the Christmas Tree Manual that states that all ornaments must be properly distributed over the entire tree to ensure the overall aesthetic integrity of said tree. Then there's the Christmas village. Now I must say I caught it at a better moment. Usually there are matchbox cars scattered everywhere. Not to mention playmobil men, knights, leggos and a few wild animals.

So I've lost control of the tree, for now, at least. And My childrens' fingerprints are all over that sucker...just perfection. I wouldn't have it any other way.  Man, I love Christmas!