I returned home after a month in Canberra on Saturday afternoon. I hauled my bags through the summer heat in the Melbourne tram system, then up the stairs in our apartment building to dump them in the front entryway with a sigh of relief. Home.
Tim
was away for work. Jonathan was out with friends. So for a few hours,
it would be just me in the blissful peace of my own space in my lovely
living room--
Except what?
The
Christmas tree was still up, fully decorated. Looking the other way,
the Christmas stockings were still hanging over the fireplace. The full
nativity set was still arranged next to the dining room table, one sad camel tipped on its side.
We had a family conversation on the 5th of January as I was packing for my month-long trip. It went like this.
Me: "Hey I'll be gone for a month. Do you want me to start helping you put away Christmas? If so, it has to be today."
Tim and Jonathan: "No don't worry about that. We've got it. Just finish packing and we love you."
And so I headed off, sure that the Christmas clean up was in good hands.
Up until I found it untouched on 3rd February.
So
rather than unpack my bags, I dug out the Christmas boxes and started
wrapping up ornaments, folding up Christmas linens, packing away
Christmas lights.
Three
hours later everything was done, stashed away back in its box in the
high cupboard. Except the tree. I got it into three parts. But I
couldn't figure out how to fold the parts into the box. I hauled it into
Tim's office and left it for him.
Tim
gets back from California today. I'll be at work, but he'll find a
partially disassembled Christmas tree on the floor of his office.
Because nothing brings more warm fuzzy feelings than Christmas.
