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Archives from 2002-2006

Sometimes I see photos of gorgeous Christmas trees with color themes or collections of exquisitely-designed ornaments and I think maybe someday I’ll get one little extra tree, maybe hide it away in the bedroom or something, and hang it with sapphire glass balls and white lights and some sort of topper purchased from the Garnett Hill catalog and it will be SO PRETTY but also untouchable and delicate and oh who am I kidding I’ll never really do this.

Our actual Christmas tree is best viewed from afar because once you get close enough to identify all the objects on the branches it sort of looks like we decorated it by dragging it through a thrift store.

For instance, this classy plastic keychain:

The back says “Harbour Cruise-Bauhinia Hong Kong” and we got it as a tourist tchotchke when we toured Victoria Harbour by boat ten years ago or so.

There’s this goofy photo:

All I know is that it’s from 2003, but I can’t remember why we were dressed up or had our picture taken. Company holiday party, maybe? (Say, what do you like better, the giant skunk stripe through my hair, or JB’s chops?)

These ornaments remind me of the tiny Orcas Island church we got married in:

I don’t know why I love this weird fungus-house thing, but I do:

Did you know that if someone gives you a “Baby’s 1st Christmas” ornament, you are contractually obligated to hang it?

Even if the photo you include is terrible and the ornament itself is painfully hideous?

Poor Dog. Not only did she get stuck in a blindingly cheesy array of plastic crystals, the clumsy Photoshop job I did on her years ago makes her look like Ghost Dog, Peering Sorrowfully from the Great Beyond.

Flimsy sharp-edged vanity license plates for the kids purchased on a business trip to San Francisco?

Check.

Awkward family photo that I clearly stuffed in the frame before the printer ink had completely dried?

Check.

And, of course, the tree topper that’s never been a star or an angel but rather, a compass:

Do you have oddball things on your Christmas tree? Tell me all about them, please. I love those immaculately-styled trees but I love the slightly-hoopty family memento trees even more.

PS: Just for my friend Jennifer, a brief appearance from the Holiday Pooping Sheep:

I was tickled when I picked Riley up from school today, because about five little pigtailed girls from his class waved and chimed “Byyyyyyyye Riley” in perfect high-pitched unison as he tossed a “Seeya!” in their direction and manfully strode off with his brother trailing behind (“Are dose your friends, Riley? Dose girls?”).

Then he excitedly told me all about the lockdown drill they’d practiced in school that day, which apparently involved putting black paper over the windows, turning off the lights, hiding against/in their cubbies, and staying silent as the principal walked the halls and jiggled the door handles.

I was still surreptitiously wiping away tears from that last little detail (I know, I know, it’s good they practice it, but aaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuuugh) when I discovered he’d been sent home with a report card in his backpack. Did you know kindergarteners get report cards? I did not, and I suppose it would be a little silly to frame it or have it bronzed but damn, this thing is awesome. I don’t mean he’s a some sort of brainiac prodigy—he got 3s in everything (“Meets expectations”)—but the notes at the end gushed about his behavior and how respectful he is of others and how well he’s doing and listen, I know I sound like a complete asshole over here, but I am just so, so happy for him. I was so worried about how this school year would go and he has just been a total rock star.

A rock star who came home, flopped on his back to watch TV, and half-choked to death on a tiny Lego he’d apparently decided to chew.

I swear, this is such a weird age. I love it, but it is just so strange. He’s half teenager, half toddler. He is so big, but so small (so SMART, so DUMB). He’s got one foot out there in the big scary world—and the other is still clad in a pair of feetie pajamas.

Or maybe it’s always strange, as your kids get bigger? Maybe you always see that little baby beneath their skin. If so, I don’t know if that’s a gift or a curse. What do you think?

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