I have to admit, when it comes to Christmas, I’m kind of a Grinch.
Beyond a potted poinsettia and a few strategically placed red candles, I can’t be bothered to decorate the house. Hauling all the crap up from the basement. Untangling the gnarl of lights. Vacuuming the endless supply of dried-up needles I will find scattered throughout the house until mid June. It just all seems so meh.
And don’t even get me started on the mall. That place is so not filled with yuletide cheer. Screaming children, yeah, as well as a bunch of slow walkers and long lines of cranky women in Christmas sweaters. I prefer my shopping to be of the cyber variety, where I can lounge on the couch in my pajamas, sip peppermint martinis, and find everything I could ever need in one spot: Amazon.com.
This Christmas, however, was different. This Christmas I draped every door with a wreath, tied every railing with a red bow, covered every horizontal surface in greenery. I had not one, but two lit-up, glitzed up trees which could barely be seen for all the mall-bought gifts. There were so many twinkling lights on my house, it lit up all of Atlanta.
Why? Some of the people I love most in the world came to my house for Christmas, and I am a classic overachiever. But as it turns out, I didn’t need all the decorations.
Because when my family walked through the door, my heart grew three sizes, all on its own.