I’ve had many Christmases, but this is one of the busiest on record–and it’s been busy even without all the church musicals, rehearsals, and so many of the things that used to fill my Decembers!
Saturday hubby and son went out to get the Christmas tree. We pulled down all the boxes from the attic and spent the better part of Saturday afternoon lighting, trimming, and draping the tree. Babe lay at its feet and just gazed up at it–too cute! I think Charley’s afraid of it.
Anyway, by pounding on the kitchen door, Babe got me up before the sun on Sunday morning. As I walked through the foyer, I thought something wasn’t right–there should be a shadow just outside the doors of the library, but no, nothing. So I turned on the light and saw the Christmas tree snoozing at the foot of the stairs . . . amid a puddle, of course, and tons of brightly gleaming broken glass.
Eeek. Got the hubby up and began the repair mission. Had to wash and dry the tree skirt, sweep up dozens of broken ornaments (I thought I could move to glass bulbs now that the kids are grown), and reassemble everything. Hubby and I got the tree upright again, and it’s still hanging on . . . for now.
As we were cleaning, I remembered last Christmas, when our tree went over at least half a dozen times. “But it never fell over in the years before that,” I said. “Why?”
That’s when we realized that last year was the first time we bought a tree stand–one of those plastic kind you fill with water. Every year prior, we’d always bought our tree at the Kiwanis place, where the guys NAIL a tree stand onto the thing. Not one of those babies ever keeled over.
Well . . . I suppose you get what you pay for. I figure we’ve already eaten up our savings in our do-it-yourself stand because we’ll have to replace broken bulbs. But I’m replacing them with plastic.
A busy week ahead–working on my nonfiction project, hostessing a party Monday night, doing a couple of interviews for The Nativity Story book, trying to maintain my schedule for the novel in progress, and pressing on with my Old Testament class for my doctoral work.
Last night hubby says to me: “Well, the party Monday night will be easy. Since the caterer’s cooking, you won’t have to do a thing.”
Not a thing, huh? I just have to vacuum, clean, and find places to sit thirty people for dinner. Then I have to find matching china for each table, plus napkins and tablecloths, plus I’ll have to do a last-minute run through the house to wipe away any new dog drool . . . Oh, yeah, I’ll be sitting and eating bonbons all afternoon.
But I’m not complaining because I really enjoy this party. It’s for our middle school volunteers, and some of them have been with us nineteen years. They deserve a clean house.
At least I don’t have to cook.