a Tree Full of Memories

Tonight our tree sparkles.

Through the window, it beams to passing cars and people too bundled up and cold to notice. Tonight the festivities of Christmas went into full swing in our house.

While some families get their Christmas tree in early December, we wait. The kids wouldn't dream of decorating the tree without their California cousins, and I wouldn't dream of doing it without my sisters. The first December after my parents divorced, my mother shipped me a giant cardboard box filled with our ornaments, officially handing the role of Christmas host to me.

It seemed so strange that first year to unpack all those memories in my New York pre-War apartment: the only surviving fake shiny present I didn't rip through when I was six, the adorable Raggedy Ann and Andy dolls that have to be hung together, and the tattered gold star to tower atop of the tree. But slowly, we made our own Christmas tradition, and the ornaments settled into their new home.

beautiful pictures stolen from my sister's blog

A few weeks ago, I visited five grandiose homes in my neighborhood during a house tour. Each home had at least two Christmas trees. I'd never seen such fancy trees. They had themes like Seuss Whimsy or Icy Glory and seemed to have been conceived by a decorator. They made me love our kitschy, crazy tree even more.

Our ornaments are worn, well-loved. They've been played with, chewed on, picked at, and glued back together. They are scarred by two generations of eager kids, but I wouldn't trade them for the fanciest tree filled with Tiffany's ornaments. It just wouldn't seem like Christmas without them.