Christmas Tree Maturity (or Getting Over Myself)

This is an artistic representation of us--
two peas in a pod.

When my husband and I celebrated our first Christmas as man and wife, and had our own tree, we (well, I) ran into some difficulties in accepting the fact that we might have to meet in the middle about Christmas decorations. I doubt this problem was unique to me. I'm sure couples everywhere go through the same thing. I came from a white light family. He came from a multi-colored light family. I came from an "everything must coordinate" family. He came from a "put everything you like on the tree" family. I came from a "big ornaments go on the bottom, small ones go on the top" family. He apparently did not.

Thus, when we decorated that first tree, I felt some consternation that he would not bend to my will. Because we got married in late December and all sorts of Christmasy things were in the stores, I let it be known to family and friends that we would love to get Christmas ornaments as gifts since we would each only be taking a few from our own homes and we would have a very bare tree without some additions to the ornament stash. Actually, I let it be known that we would really like gold ornaments. I don't think Zach knew this. I had a vision in my head of all different sorts of ornaments (bulbs, stars, bells, snowflakes, whatever) all in gold with some white accents and white lights.

While we did get some lovely gold ornaments that are still some of my favorites ten years later, we did not have enough to have a completely gold tree. But even if we did, Zach would have (rightfully) insisted that non-gold ornaments had a place on the tree. That his ornaments had a place on the tree. The problem was that my narrow sense of what looked good (instilled in me by my wonderfully picky parents—and I say that with absolutely no sarcasm as I think they have great taste) did not fit with this white be-vested bear dancing on a ball . . .

Cute as he is, I was not interested in whimsy. I wanted to create a feeling of luxury, of class, of breathtaking beauty. I wanted a themed tree, which was my heritage. We always had a real tree in the family room with a red theme (apples and bows) and an artificial tree in the living room (decorated in particularly '80s pastel ornaments that all coordinated). I realize now that I wanted people to look at my tree and think about me: my eye for design and my sense of style.

Over the years I have lightened up considerably. I have stopped surreptitiously moving ornaments that I felt were misplaced. (So sorry, Zach, if this is the first time you're hearing of this bad behavior of mine.)

See how this little wooden soldier guy is touching the bell? Amazingly, this is not eating me up inside.

I have grown to love some of the ornaments that, at first sight, made me shudder inwardly. I have lost my affection for others that were purchased because they were pretty but that have no real sentiment or story attached to them. I have embraced the hodge-podge of homemade, vintage, high-class, and borderline cheesy ornaments.

But I did win him over to the white light side. It was quite a victory for me—until recently when I've considered trying something new (like slightly larger lights or maybe even some throwback multi-colored lights) just to shake things up. Because now Zach is firmly in the white light camp and I doubt it would be an easy task to convince him to switch back.

Suffice to say as our son grows older and starts having an opinion of his own on these things, I will be far better prepared to just roll with it. And I'm betting that the wierder we get with our Christmas tree decorations the more fun and memorable our Chistmases will be. Because when someone looks at my tree, I don't want them to think about my sense of style. I want them to ask "Where on earth did this come from?" Because then I have an opportunity to tell them a good story.