Decking the halls. Trimming the tree with Baby's Breath. It looks like snow flakes and smells floral, adding authenticity to my new artificial tree. I like to call it, Baby Jesus Breath.
I need one day per week to get stuff done. This pre-Christmas week, it's filled with shopping, wrapping, and shipping. My bedroom was a disaster. It was an unholy Grinch's nightmare...and I was in heaven. I use Christmas cards from last year for gift tags, color coordinating them with the paper.
Our entry way table is glitzed out in silver and gold, complete with a crystal nativity scene, inspired by a Christmas card we received from a nature loving friend. Pictured is a tree skeleton, covered in snow. The bark is dark and contrasts beautiful against the white. Chiaroscuro, a very symbolic technique in art.
Three jewel boxes sit waiting to take a breath away. Two of our sons will receive a crucifix hung from sterling silver chains. The third is addressed to "Moi."
Rob laughed as he breezed into the room at me buying a gift for myself. I said, "I told Scott that he didn't need to buy me anything, I'd taken care of it for him."
Our youngest daughter has inherited my trait, to subtly express her wants and needs to those closest. She'll drop hints like, "I've never eaten at that restaurant before, or Emily is getting a dirtbike for Christmas, or hey you know, McDonald's has a flurry ice cream with Reces' pieces in it.!"
I reminded Rob that back in the day when we were dating, he was the first to care about what I wanted. "The other mooks could care less." Rob smiling, "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" He then added, "I was the one you let behind the curtain. I got to see the girl working the levers to the great and powerful land of "She-ba."
About my big present in a small box, "Moi" said, "It is the most beautiful thing. I had to have it."
Rob said, "That's what I think about you."
It was no small feat to clean up my bedroom, littered with holiday paraphanalia. I could have used a Thing One and Thing Two with their super duper cleaning machine. And as I listened to the Grinch song, "You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch"...I played out the rest of the story in my head, vacuuming up every speck...
How could it be so?
It came without ribbons! It came without tags!
It came without packages, boxes, or bags!
And he puzzled and puzzed, till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before!
"Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store.
Maybe Christmas… perhaps… means a little bit more."
Merry Christmas, my friends! May the love of the Christ Child dwell in your hearts, for evermore.