A few days after I dragged a pair of ornament boxes up to the first floor, we finally got around to decorating the family room Christmas tree (aka The Real One) this evening after dinner.
With "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" playing on the TV in the background, the kiddos got to work. They approached the task with good cheer as they picked through the two boxes, and I headed down to the garage a few times to retrieve the boxes that I knew contained cars and animated pieces. The cars because I can't imagine a Christmas tree without them, and the animated ones, well, because they're fun.
We finished the process with ornaments from my treasure box, which sits on a shelf in my closet and contains all of the precious pieces they made during their younger days: the glittered photo ornaments, the spray-painted-gold macaroni frames, the carefully fingerprinted spheres, the laminated poems. Those beautiful trappings of childhood that come out just once a year to help us remember and make us smile.
So tonight, I'm thankful for a peaceful evening of decorating and for the whiffs of sweet nostalgia that those decorations provide.
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