It’s a house plant

We can’t invite anyone over for the foreseeable future. I’ve issued a temporary ban on visitors entering our house.

Not because of our germy kids, or my pneumonia. Not because the family room is a strewn with toys and stuffed animals and puzzle pieces.

No, I just don’t want someone to wander in and discover our dirty little secret:

our Christmas tree is still up.

We appear poised to receive Santa at any minute. Ornaments adorn the tree, the stockings dangle beside the fireplace and the advent calendar crowds the mantle, right beside the Santa snow globe.

I’ve never been one to hang on to Christmas. We’ve always booted the tree out on January 2nd. And the nutcracker, the googly-eyed reindeer candles and our kitchy snowmen figurines hide out in the attic.

But this year I’ve rebelled.

The fireplace room is our private oasis. It escapes the lava-like spread of clutter, and the wooden pocket doors keep the blaring tv, the blaring kids and blaring dog at bay. And with a crackling roaring fire and our perfectly plump and symmetrical douglas fir, the room is positively cozy. More than cozy, it’s calming. Better than a glass of wine. (correction: enhanced with a glass of wine.)

Sure, Christmas is last year’s footnote. We’re already thinking about spring break and summer vacation.

Which is why I’m disassociating the tree with Christmas. Instead, I think of it as a house plant.

A really big house plant… with shiny baubles and twinkly white lights.