...and the plate is waiting.
The Saturday before Thanksgiving, I dug out our Christmas boxes and got to work. I'm not sure if I lacked energy or interest (or a healthy dose of both) but it doesn't seem like our halls are too decked out. It's not that we have a whole lot of holiday decor; maybe four totes full of ornaments, trees, and snowmen. But of what we do have, I scaled back a little bit. Drew did help me decorate the tree, hanging all of his quickly growing collection of ornaments. Reed participated, as well, by hanging his first.
Our tree is pretty small; four feet tall, perched on an old coffee table to make it look bigger. It's pretty bland, with just lights and ornaments. But there's something special about those ornaments. A collection of old and new, store-bought and homemade, one commemorating my birth, and the newest celebrating Reed's birth. Those made with love by Brad's grandma, and the one given to me in memory of my grandfather. It's got history, our tree. It's not so flashy, or bright, or grand. Someday I'd like to really deck the halls, with fanciness, glitter, and all things sparkly. But there's something special about our little tree. Something special, indeed.