Posted By Daisy on December 15, 2010

We trimmed our secular and fake tree this past weekend.   I used to insist on a real (secular) tree — the smell, the feel, all that stuff.  That was before I got smart about picking and choosing battles and minimizing any and all things that require more maintenance or effort than truly necessary for happiness.  Last year when we downsized to the condo, we got ourselves two nice reusable fake-ass trees, a little one for the Bear’s room and a rather tall one for our living room.  (Oh, and the big one is pre-lit!  No stringing of lights required!  It is MARVELOUS.  Plus I can feel high and mighty that somehow going with a reusable plastic pretend tree is better for the environment, or something.  I’m sure there are people who can back me up on this.)  Suffice to say the ease of installing holiday splendor, and no longer worrying that either the cat or the Bear will choke on a stray needle, has more than made up for the absence of that lovely pine aroma.

Now, our guy loved that he had his own tree in his room last year, and he more or less knew that Christmas Trees abound during the winter, and he could recognize Santa, but I can’t say he was really feeling it, if you know what I mean.  I have no idea how to pinpoint the difference between a concrete understanding of holiday symbols and a genuine appreciation for the delight these things inspire, but the Bear made that transition this year.  He was an artist this weekend with the tree.  He selected favorite ornaments, bunched them together in the front lower quadrant of the tree (I refused to allow them to be redistributed for a more balanced look), and made several of his own.  The best of which is an abstract work in pipe cleaners entitled “jellyfish.”   We watch the Grinch multiple times a day now at his insistence, and he also narrates: “They are serving Cindy Lou-Who’s dinner!  It’s a strawberry but it is really his eye!”  (You might need to have seen it fairly recently to fully appreciate this level of detail.)   He knows he wants his family around to celebrate.  He’s disappointed his babysitter will be going home to see her own family instead of celebrating with us.  (He will be more disappointed if someone breaks it to him that the odds of his marrying her when he is older, as he is currently planning, are pretty slim.)  He wants it to snow.  He wants to wear his snowflake socks every day and his holiday pajamas every night.

He just really gets it now, you know?  And I am loving it.

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