CELEBRATION SATURDAY

For the past ten Saturdays, I've participated in weekly celebrations, initiated by Ruth Ayres at her blog, Ruth Ayres Writes. Be sure to stop over there for a whole lot more celebrations.

My boys are home!
And it's so, so good to
have messes in the kitchen,
and banging until all hours of the night,
and their great big hugs.

Today I'm celebrating us.
We are not a "traditional" family.
And we don't do Christmas in traditional ways.
My boys, especially my older son,
hate the holiday season
And so  I try to keep it kind of quiet.

 I celebrate the Advent
put out a creche,
attend church,
read advent reflections
usually by myself. 

We do a tree
some years
if the boys want to.

I bake cookies.
The boys help
If they want to.

We have presents.
They always want to do that part.

Last Saturday night
the boys got home from school.
I hadn't done any decorating
because I was kind of waiting
to see how they would feel. 
I asked, tentatively
"Anyone want to help
put up the tree tomorrow?"
I was super surprised
when son #2
responded enthusiastically.

Sunday after church
Son #1 was watching football.
Son #2 was playing video games. 
I went out to the garage
to find the tree. 
(I love a real one, but the boys,
for whatever reason
abhor them).
I dragged the tree out of the garage
and across the backyard to the deck
where I got stuck.
It was too heavy for me to carry up the stairs.
I called for help.
Son #2 hefted the tree
and dumped it unceremoniously
in the living room.
Then retreated again
to his bedroom
to play video games.

I took the tree out of the garbage bags
(And yes, I know you are supposed to keep the box,
but ours got destroyed several years ago)
and discovered that somehow,
the lights on our prelit tree
had come off
and were horribly tangled.

I was about half an hour
into trying to untangle them
when son #1 appeared.
"Want help?" he said.
And then he dismissed me.
"I got this," he said.
"Go get the rest of the stuff we need."
And in the ten minutes,
it took me to get the ornaments out of the garage 
Zay had untangled the lights,
and manhandled the tree
into the corner of our living room.
"The top was a little broken," he declared,
"but I just stuck it back on there."

I have learned,
over the past ten years
that his usual methods-
duct tape,
nails,
force,
rarely meet my specifications.

In the old days,
I would have protested
insisted on more artistic fixes
but I have learned
that those interactions
are rarely positive.
 So today, I don't check
I say nothing
and we move forward.

I remember my father
spending hours
twisting the lights around branches
carefully positioning them
so the tree would be evenly lit.
I envision a similar process
for repairing our now unlit
prelit tree.

 Zay takes the lights,
pitches them
over the branches
 at the top of the tree
takes five minutes
to make a few minor adjustments
and plugs them in.
"Ok, we are ready for the ornaments,"
he declares
Again, I long to protest
or make a few fixes
but restrain myself.

It is good enough.

"He can do the rest," Zay declares.
gesturing toward the bedroom
where his brother
is still playing Madden.
Despite his protests,
 Zay helps me unwrap a few
from the newspaper coverings
and decides to stay.

Each ornament is a piece
of our short family history. 

The jillion apple ornaments
from my years as a teacher
('Why do people think you want those?"
asks my son, wrinkling up his nose).

The silver pinecones
from my dear friend Cyrene
who sent a box of ornaments
all the way from Maine
for our first family Christmas. 

The football and basketball snowman
and African American angels
From a book club friend
the boys describe as Book Auntie Terri.

A set of cheaply painted
football and basketball ornaments
the boys found one year at the grocery store
and insisted on buying
for our sports-themed
family decor. 

The tree is done
in about fifteen minutes.
I am pretty sure
there is a whole other box
of ornaments
still in the garage.
I ask if I should go get them.
"No," says Zay.
"This is enough."
He pulls out his phone
and takes a picture

 He is happy.

Later Son #2
whose only contribution
was carrying the tree up the stairs
also comes to take pictures. 

And I realize
that in our family
this crooked topped
unevenly lit
scantily decorated tree
really is enough.

Probably more than enough.

And so today I celebrate
our less than ordinary family
with a less than perfect Christmas tree
and an even less perfect mom
who is only beginning to understand
that imperfection
probably
really
is enough.