I can remember decorating the Christmas tree with my family every year when I was a little girl. I can’t pick a favorite part or a favorite memory – they all run together and are hard to separate – but that’s ok – I wouldn’t want to pull them apart if I had to. Carefully unpacking the boxes of glass ornaments was Momma’s job. As if somehow by her magically gentle touch – none would be broken in their tissue wrapped packing. Inevitably there were always at least one or two that had shattered in the heat of our attic throughout the hot Florida summers. Momma always said they’d sometimes burst from the heat. I just thought it was because Daddy wasn’t very careful when dragging those boxes around.

When we were small children, our tree had the typical mis-matched ornaments home-made by our own hands or a piece here and a piece there from trips to the store for those “after Christmas” bargains Momma was always after. The only “theme” our trees ever had back then were “bottom heavy” with ornaments and “tinsel thick” from impatient children slinging handfuls of those silvery threads into the branches.

Some years we had real trees, several different times we’d have an artificial tree for a few years in a row – at least as long as the fake limbs would withstand the torture from three little girls tugging and pulling on it as we’d put it together the day after Thanksgiving and not taking it down until the night before school started back from winter break.

Once we were all in middle school and high school, and the lure of decorating the tree began to diminish, Momma took charge of her trees once again. Out with the old decorations – nearly every one – and in with the new. Matching. Everything HAD to match. Momma called it a “formal” tree. The handmade ornaments that had miraculously survived over the last 15 years or so were kept in storage. I never knew what happened to them in the end. But the new tree was quite stylish with it’s satin wrapped balls, golden bells, shiny red apples, and plaid bows.

The older we got, the more Momma struggled to keep us girls out from under the tree, seeing who got more gifts than the other – shaking every single one of them! She got real smart one year and started labeling the gifts in three letter codes. That nearly killed us girls trying to find out who was “DCR,” “AEK,” and “KPE” – especially since none of those were anywhere CLOSE to our initials. That Christmas morning, all three of us received large mirrors to be mounted on our bedroom doors – the outer boxes of the mirrors had the codes deciphered. FINALLY! We tore through those gifts like crazy!! Oh – and the tall skinny gift that my middle sister just SWORE were new water skis?? Mini-blinds for our oldest sister’s room. *grin*

Now I’m the Momma and I’m in charge of the tree. Yes, I like for my decorations to match and the last few years I’ve been a bit anal retentive about what decoration goes where and just how so the ribbons are tied to specific branches. In the past it would invariably lead to arguments between me and The Girl when it came time to place the special ornaments. I forced my hand – afterall – I’m “Momma.”

This Christmas is not the same as last. This Christmas my focus is quite different. This Christmas, like never before, belongs to The Pixies. Last week we went to the tree lot and I told The Pixies to go find us a tree. That alone was a treat – we’ve had artificial tree’s their entire lives. The Girl couldn’t fathom what it was like to have a real tree. My only stipulation? It couldn’t be taller than me (I’m 5’6″ for the record.)

Once home, in the stand and properly situated in it’s place of honor – I carefully unpacked the ornaments and began to hand them to The Girl. She looked up at me quizzically, “but Momma? That’s your job?!?!” “Not this year baby, this tree is for you and (The Boy). This year, you get to decorate it.” Sure the shiny red apples are a bit close to the golden bells…but this year, that tree belongs to THEM.