Decked

Isn't it funny how your opinions change as you grow older, or perhaps they just mold around the phase of life that you are in. Either way, I have definitely had a change of heart in regards to Christmas trees. Growing up we had a family tradition of chopping down our own Christmas tree the weekend after Thanksgiving. The hunt was always fun, but the trees were never much to speak of. We called them corner trees, because usually only one side was worth showing off while the others needed to be hidden against a wall. I always begged my parents to get one of the full, bushy trees from the local tree lot instead. As if the sparse, leaning tree wasn't bad enough my mother insisted on mismatched decorations that we had made in preschool and primary throughout the years. I felt that the result was somewhat hideous and couldn't wait to decorate my own matchy-matchy tree.

Fast-forward fifteen years. Our first Christmas in our very own house. We decided that we wanted a real tree this year and after scouting it out I made Sam drive past all the nearby lots to a tree lot I had seen in American Fork that sold the kind of trees that look like you chopped them down yourself; sparse and kind of un-even. I loved it! We put on the lights and let the kids help with the rest. Because they got ripped off and thrown around so much we used only the cheap-o plastic balls from Walmart and after a few days the bottom three feet of the tree was completely empty void of ornaments. To top it all off, we got to add our very first homemade ornament to the tree, a popsicle-stick reindeer that Ollie made in preschool. I thought our tree was perfect. When I visited my mom's house and saw that she had a fluffly, perfect Christmas lot tree covered in matching ornaments and ribbons, I felt so bad for her.