Every Christmas, my mother goes to great pains to create the perfect holiday home. Everything has its place, from the pictures to the placemats to the candlesticks. The centerpiece is the eleborately decorated tree. The details are meticulous – the colored balls go on the inside of the branches so the soft white light shines just so off their shiny surfaces. The same patterned cloth bows are used each year, lovingly packed with paper towel rolled up between the loops. The red beads and the gold beads criss-cross in a precise and consistent manner. And the ornaments are painstakingly placed in the perfect location – nothing is where it shouldn’t be. It’s a labor of love, and she’s extremely proud of the end result.
A few years back, the men of the house decided to rebel. We picked up a cheap fake tree, grabbed pop cans and toy cars, and threw the whole thing together in five minutes. The tree topper was a roll of toilet paper. It was truly a work of art.
The tree has only improved with the seasons, as our carelessness has consistently reached new highs. These days, the brances are placed in improper spots, with the longest branches at the top. Some spots we just leave bare. The lights are thrown on the tree in a big clump, and the tree topper hangs off to one side.
Honestly, I’m not sure how we’re going to beat this year’s effort – I’m open to ideas:
