I know, I know. It's not even Halloween yet. But when a three-year-old comes over to decorate a tree, you decorate a damn tree. That's just the way life is.
I have a small tree, only about four feet tall. I live in an apartment that lacks storage. For some reason, every place that I've lived in has seriously lacked closet space. Not only that, this place doesn't have attic storage, either. So, I had to decide: full-size washer and dryer, or another closet. Hmmmm... time to down-size the Christmas tree, I guess.
I will say that having a three-year-old decorator certainly made my share of the work more tolerable. The older I get, the less I like hanging ornaments on the tree. I've dumped more than half of my original ornaments, and tossed a lot of the decorations because I don't host anymore, so the whole "deck the halls" routine is ridiculously streamlined now, much to my amazement and pleasure.
I do, however, still have several fragile antique ornaments, as well as many lovely glass ones, so this whole "toddler-tree" symbiosis may not have been my brightest idea. In the end, though, no glass was broken. There were casualties, though. The Bruins chair lost its hockey stick, and Bob Ross suffered a half-severed foot. Nothing a little hot glue won't fix once I get around to it.
Bah-freaking-humbug to that, Ebenezer!
I guess for Halloween I will be Santa's elf. Considering that I haven't given the holidays any thought other than that, the tree will be scary enough.
