It’s Not Even Christmas Yet, and I’m Already Disappointed

Because being an adult is not much fun

srstowers

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Image by Theo Crazzolara from Pixabay

When I was a kid, the most magical time of year was between Thanksgiving and Christmas. It started the day after Thanksgiving, when we pulled the Christmas decorations out of the closet. My mom would put on a Christmas record while my dad started untangling the lights. It never occurred to them back then that they could store the lights in a way that didn’t cause them to become a giant knot.

After my dad finished with the lights — complete with a lot of swear words we didn’t normally hear from him throughout the rest of the year — my sister and I would put the ornaments on the tree. In my memory, we did most of the tree decorating ourselves. Now that I’m an adult, I’m sure that’s not how it happened. My mother is far too particular to let anyone, let alone children, have that much control over the Christmas tree.

My mother decorated the whole house for Christmas. The dining room table, the fireplace mantel, the bathrooms, the hallways, the coffee table and every end table— so much garland and tinsel. So many candles. Santa Claus everywhere. Many of the decorations were from the late sixties and seventies. I still have some of them.

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srstowers

high school English teacher, cat nerd, owner of Grading with Crayon, and author of Biddleborn.