A week and a half ago we went with friends to pick out a tree on Saturday night.
We didn't get home til after 9:00 and didn't get the tree in the stand and straight until like 10:15.
I wanted to get the lights on the tree, because I hate having something left undone.
(Cuz I'm a fidget like that.)
The kiddos drank hot chocolate and ate chocolate chip cookies I'd made that afternoon.
We put this on (Which, btw, if you've never heard and you have smaller peeps, you've got to give it a listen with them! I love it, too, and I'm full grown, I think.), and they curled up with blankets in the chairs and on the couch while I strung lights for the next two hours (probably).
I even added the bubble lights from my dad's tree, cuz the kids wanted them on there.
Turns out, I'm finding them delightful and comforting and beautiful.
The next day we strung ornaments on a golden sunny Sunday afternoon. We turned on carols from King's College and got busy decking the halls.
I found myself a bit nostalgic as I thought about my dad (who gave us most of our ornaments and Christmas decorations in general) and traditions and my grandmother and great-grandmother.
Yeah.
That's why.
It was beautiful and lovely.
I pulled things out to set up on the hutch and piano and figured out the mantle sitch.
Did a repeat of the sweater wreath from last year, because I like the homey simplicity of it.
And basically, Christmas has arrived here.
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