Sunday was tree-trimming day in Casa Elen. We look forward to this event every year. Super Techlet and Mr. Super Techlet sprint over to the homestead, and we all dive into decorating the tree and share some holiday cheer and food. Good times.
Usually, Mr. G and Mr. Super Techlet are tasked with putting the lights on the tree while Super Techlet and I sort out the Christmas boxes, which I had been hauling upstairs from the basement at every opportunity earlier in the week.
Huff. And puff.
However, Mr. G and I decked the tree with lights earlier in the week.
I was organized for our tree-trimming party and patting myself on the back. Smug, baby, smug.
Nix the smug. It will come back to bite you. Un-huh.
A major player was missing.
I have a little oval box decorated in Christmas fabric that I have stored ornament hangers in from year to year. They look exactly like that in the box. All jumbled and cranky.
The box was a Secret Santa gift from ages ago. Maybe eons. It’s one of the last things to get put away when a body is running around after Epiphany trying to clear the house of Christmas so that said body can focus all their attention on the post holiday bathroom scale, doing the whole shock and horror thing. At least, that’s what happens at our house.
Obviously, it didn’t get put in a Christmas storage box. I don’t know about you, but I lose some of my organizational brain cells when all I can think about is how the top button on my jeans won’t close.
Those ornament hangers are playing happily somewhere in the basement with the wooden sleigh that holds Christmas cards. It’s missing, too. This could be a conspiracy.
The fire is blazing. Lights are twinkling on the tree. The Christmas tuneage is cranked up. Ornaments are rockin’ every available surface.
We’re in the Christmas mood.
We’ve got the holiday spirit.
It was Mr. G, honey to the rescue. He donned the coat, the scarf, the ear muffs and braved the Sunday afternoon pre-Christmas shopping craziness, and possible freezing rain/ice pellet/snow combo, to hunt ornament hangers.
My guy. Talkin’ ’bout my guy. My g…
And when he came back with two sizes, and the tree was trimmed to perfection, three witnesses watched me put the leftover hangers in another treasured Christmas box…
And then Super Techlet whipped out her iPhone and took a picture of the box.
Just in case, when Epiphany rolled around and I was obsessing over the top button on my jeans…