Yuletide Perfection

I am captivated by all things Christmas. My house, inside and out, reflects my slight obsession with the red and green holiday. The day after Thanksgiving I roam through the dusty cardboard towers filling the basement and start heaving cartons of snowmen, reindeer, and candles. I buy fresh wreaths and blooming poinsettias; I wrap the banister in garland, lights, and ribbons. I dress the tall tree in a red and white candy motif.

Once the interior is festooned with trinkets, I take my exploit outside. While the professionals hang the lights along the gables, Kevin, my husband, secures white bulbs in the plastic stakes that outline the driveway and lawn. I complete the canvas by wrapping the columns and porch railings in luminous evergreen.

Although my ceremonial pursuit for yuletide perfection is exhausting, the payoff comes that first night, after all the work, when I stand in the white-breath air and look back at the gleaming homestead.

Ohhh yeah.

My masterwork, however, was cruelly incinerated one December when Hunter, my 13-year-old son, and Kevin arrived home from a “men only” shopping trip and excitedly placed a small box on the kitchen table.

“Hey Mom,” Hunter said. “Look what Dad and I got!”

“What is it?” I asked warily examining the box. Husband and son were famous for buying the weird like bacon flavored soda.

“It’s a light projector. It displays Christmas lights that move all over the house. Dad and I are going to set it up.”

“Lights?” I asked starting to feel anxious.

“Yeah, red, blue, and green!”

“Wait.” I said. “What?”

“It’s gonna look sick!”

Yes, I thought, definitely sick: queasy-stomach sick, disco-house sick, red-light district sick.

Kevin appeared with extension cords and the two hustled outside. I followed, eagerly voicing my concerns about elegance and suitability. But my objections were declared frivolous as I watched them huddle side by side over the instructions, laugh in relief when they found a missing screw, and discuss how to best adjust the projector’s angle.With the gaudy kaleidoscopic show blazing across the masonry, my son announced another projector was needed, one that displayed images like Santa and his reindeer. Kevin enthusiastically agreed and off they went. My high-school daughter wandered outside with a blanket around her shoulders and stood with me on the sidewalk.

“Mom,” she said in a slow monotone voice. “It looks like Christmas threw-up on the house.”

“I know,” I said slightly hypnotized by the hundreds of circling dots. “I know.”

Later that night I sat in the dark living room looking out the front window lamenting the specter outside. The second projector had been a bigger hit than the first. It came complete with snowflakes, snowmen, and trees that sashayed up and down, backwards and forwards. The men of the house were thrilled. I said it was cold and came indoors looking for asylum. This was not my Christmas vision.

I was settled on the couch when I heard the door open and Kevin and Hunter walk in. Their voices were animated as they talked about their evening adventure. They made their way to the kitchen, searched the fridge for something to eat, then sat at the counter together. I watched them through the connecting doorway and listened to Hunter grumble (with a fabricated seriousness) about the uselessness of 7th grade math, the carelessness of teachers who lose his assignments, and the craziness of the bus driver who only plays country music from the 1980’s. Kevin was attentive and added his own quirky middle-school tales. Their discussion was lively, with emphatic gestures, and drifted from school to movies to video games. I laid my head back against the cushion. The easy laughter and good-natured banter of father and son subdued me. Somehow, the annoyance of the outside theatrical light show waned. I thought about the hours and energy I had put into ornamenting the house and realized my insistence for decoration perfection was creating a rocky path to what I really wanted at Christmas; that which was happening right in front of me in the kitchen.

Perhaps my perfect holiday vision had less to do with the tree trimmings and more to do with the two projectors that were beaming lights all over the house.