A Little Garland Goes a Long Way

Apparently we are a family who does garland.

Four years ago, facing our first married Christmas, we had an all out war about the Christmas tree. While we agreed that it would be real, I missed my elegantly tall artificial tree. While we agreed on colored lights (oh, but for the pristine. clear glow of white lights...), we came to verbal blows about the tree topper and the presence of gold tinsel garland. He wanted a star that changed colors - I wanted my delicate Pier 1 version. He wanted garland - I was adamantly opposed to all things tinsel.

We weren't petty enough to be fighting about the pure aesthetics of the tree (though, I have to admit, I come from a long line of picky-Christmas-tree women). Instead, what was at stake was tradition - our emotional ties to our families' version of the holiday spirit. On that first married Christmas (which was, at times, a far cry from merry), we didn't know how to blend the sentiments of our past or how to start to write our own story, together. That poor tree - it was so squatty in our short-ceiling dance floor of a no-furniture living room! - didn't stand a fighting chance.

This year, our annual hunt for the ideal Christmas tree featured a new little player all bundled up in her pink snowsuit. Tramping through the field with my husband, brother and future sister-in-law, I found myself less worried about perfectly shaped branches and straight trunks and more concerned with the growing pinkness of my daughter's wind-chapped cheeks. (I was self-conscious as I ran into other families - what kind of mom takes her baby girl out on a frigid morning in a forest? And just what was I, Ms. Klutz Extraordinaire, thinking carrying her while I navigated fields full of stumps and holes?) My usual intense comparative analysis of finalist trees vanished in the face of a heightened resolve to choose a tree and get back to the warmth of the truck as soon as possible. Ironically, my quick pick turned out to be the best tree we've had yet. And if coos and mesmerized hand reaches are any indication, it's also earned a stamp of approval from another discriminating little critic.

After putting our tuckered little girl down for a nap, my husband and I tackled the tree. In four years of decorations, we've found our rhythm - there is a predictable comfort to the set-up process. We rearranged furniture, secured the stand, positioned the tree evenly in the corner and expertly threaded the lights. Eyes dancing, he dragged a familiar gold strand from the box. "Ready?" he asked. I laughed and grabbed an end. "You realize that I'm shoving this as far as I can in the tree, right?"

"As long as it goes on, we're good," he chuckled and shuffled his way around the tree, spreading gold glee with each loop. The garland was on for yet another year.

Sitting in the leather chair near the tree during feedings, I enjoy my daughter's expressions as different decorations catch her eye. Coming around the corner with arms full of folded laundry, I smile at the snoring mass of dog curled near the base. Each night as I put the house to bed (why are moms always the last to bed?), I pause before I turn off the lights, warmed by the glow of those colored lights and the presence of ornaments we've gathered together. It is a beautiful tree, made more beautiful by the life we've added to share it, made more special by the life we've built together.

And while I'll never admit it to my husband's face, there is something Christmas-y in the glint of gold tinsel against evergreen needles. It belongs on our tree.

We are a family who does garland.