My Christmas tree is still up. I know.
Don’t look at me like that.
I’m not the sort of person who normally leaves the ornaments and things up this late into the month of January. Nay! My mother was here over two weeks ago, and I begged her to help me de-trim the house. We actually did this about an hour or so before she was to get her taxi to the airport abandoning me for my other sister to head home to Toronto, where she lives. We made like a tornado and put all the shiny, glimmering bits and pieces back into their boxes, save for the last two ornaments and the tree-topping angel, since a ladder was needed for those last few bits, and really, I was too lazy to retrieve it from aaaaaall the way down in the basement. I reasoned that Martin would get them down when he came home from work later that evening, and help take the lights off, and we’d shove it through our second-storey window onto the front lawn like we do every year. Either that night or the next. By the weekend at the very latest. That was almost three weeks ago.
I promised myself that since Madame’s birthday was on the 21st of this month, we should at least have no traces of Christmas left in the house by then. I mean, it’s only right for her to have her OWN birthday, and not have to celebrate amongst the dregs of Jesus’s birthday too.
But I suppose we were late in getting our tree up at all this year. I think we got it about a week or so before Christmas, and though it was in the stand, it took days and days of Oliver begging for us to actually decorate it. It’s a massive undertaking. We have tonnes of ornaments. Okay, maybe not tonnes (they’re quite light, actually) but there are many. MANY! And I didn’t even use them all this year.
I go shopping after the holidays for more ornaments, after they’ve been drastically reduced in price, so that I can afford to buy the stunning ornaments of my dreams… and each year when I pull out my boxes (and boxes) or ornaments, I find the ones I’d bought the January before, stowed neatly away, and remember them anew! It’s like a few new gifts!! And I think, Man, these are pretty… good score, lady!! Makes me feel rather smart, actually. I like feeling smart. Heh.
But at the beginning of the season, it feels a bit like a chore to lug them out of the deep recesses of the basement, and drag all dem boxes upstairs, AND get the ladder, AND string up all those white lights… but by the time we actually get it done, I’m so very pleased with how things look. (Of course, it doesn’t look like this splendid vision anymore…)
This years holidays were fraught with illness. Again. Baby had her first ear infection, and we had to wrestle down the snotty-nosed, irritable little demon child to get her to take her nasty, viscous antibiotic serum three times each day, for ten days. That in and of itself was exhausting. And as it seems with every year, Martin, who seldom calls in sick or takes an extra day off, begins his two-week holiday at home with some kind of fever and/or sniffle-like symptoms. He spends most of his home time in bed with sickness. It is the same every year. I believe his body senses downtime coming, and takes full advantage. It’s not his fault, of course, and it’s still nice to have daddy home, but… fuuuuuck! (This also means no sex.)
So we cancelled all the RSVP’s to the parties and things, and didn’t do any socializing… and let me tell you this: all the holiday stuff, from the shopping and the cooking and the wrapping and the cleaning… all that stuff without the parties and the visiting and the fun stuff… well, it really just amounts to A LOT of fucking work, and NO FUN at all. Bah, humbug. I was glad to see the holidays over with, and happy to get back to regular life of work and school.
Now we’re chest-deep into a renovation of our place for rent downstairs, and it’s been all-consuming. I feel like we’re at Home Depot every single day. This whole thing is costing a whole whack more money and time than we’d anticipated (natch) and it feels endless. We can barely get anything done for ourselves around here, lately. Martin is around less often than I need him to be, so the children are mine, all mine, for days and evenings and weekends… Lord, I need a break. (This too also means no sex.)
I think January in general is a hard month for lots of people. It certainly is for me. We don’t take trips to balmy, beachy climes – it’s costly at the best of times, and especially with the mountains of cash we’re throwing at this damned renovation, it’s just not in the cards for us. Meh. There are certainly worse circumstances to have. (Um, Haiti?) But what it means is, there’s just not much to look forward to, as the long-ass winter s-l-o-w-l-y saunters on to better, more tolerable weather. Sometime around June, I reckon. Poo.
In the mean time, all the other decorations are put away boxed. The wreath has been off my front door for weeks. (Never will I be guilty of leaving my outdoor decorations out past Valentine’s Day, like some people I know (ehem) and you know who you are!!) No, not me. I just have my tree up. Still.
But every night, I climb into bed, tired, and still gaze up at my beautiful tree… or at least what was my beautiful tree, as it is now a complete fire-hazard. (No, we don’t put the lights on anymore – I’m not crazy, just lazy. These are different.) And since it’s in our bedroom, and not in a high-traffic area, it’s ready-to-drop needles are still in place. It’s crispy as hell, but still shapely and pretty. It’s nice to have something you like hanging around. Even if it’s just your sad-ass Christmas tree from last year. (Oh my god, that sounds so pathetic, I can hardly believe it.) It was my favorite thing though. For reals.
But it’s going out tonight. Or tomorrow. By the weekend at the very latest.
G.G.
NOTE: I believe this will also open the door to more sex. Not sure how, but I just assume so. More sex is good for everyone – especially for my cranky, stabby mood.
