Last year our trees were black and blue. Literally. They came from Target. (Say it with a fake French accent or I will kick you out of this play date.) I had no intention of going anywhere near tradition nor our attic filled with decorations and memories.
In years past, I have had up to eleven themed trees in my tiny house (no, shut YOUR whore mouth. I have a lot of ornaments!), decorated with ornaments collected throughout my and my children's lives. This year those ornaments will see the light again. I think.
I went up into the new attic and retrieved about two-thirds of our decorations today. No tears. No meltdowns. I have even been playing Christmas carols, albeit some funky ones, but that's not abnormal.
Don't think I'm naive enough to believe it will be smooth sailing through the entire holiday. I know better. I've been on the hunt for snowman-themed tissues already, and I have my grandmother's egg-nog recipe at my fingertips.
This year we went as a family, all seven of us, to pick out our tree. We are an easy-to-please bunch. We liked the first tree we saw, bagged it, tossed it onto the van, and off we drove in our Santa hats, reindeer antlers, and Mark Twain wig. (It's a long story.)