Most of us have childhood memories of holidays filled with coziness, warmth and sweet scents that filled our home. We also recall each holiday bringing with it fun and creative decorations adorning windowsills, bookcases, mantles and hearths alike. Our moms would ask our dads to bring down the boxes from the attic that contained embellishments for each respective holiday. I remember getting so excited seeing my mom peel the tape off the boxes and pull out our favorites from the year before. And each year there was a new ornament to add to the wondrous display, making each holiday that much more special.
Now that I’m married, and looking into starting a family of my own, I must add the role of “holiday decorator extraordinaire” to my repertoire. I’ve already started getting some small decorations little by little, and placing them around our house to get ready for the holidays. I have noticed that a lot of my friends do this, and it seems to be a favorite pastime among us women.
There is nothing wrong with this until your husband comes home and feels that he is suffering from a mental episode, jet-setting him back in time to 1987 when he came home from school and his mother had unleashed holiday fury all over their living room. When I started adding some pumpkins, gourds, “Beware” signs and a couple of witches here and there, he couldn’t help but ask, “Um, when did you get all this stuff? It looks like my mom was here.”
Thrilled by my spooky candle holders and clearly not picking up on his tone, I said, “I’ve been collecting them! What do you think?”
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His casual shrug paired with an, “Eh…” made me realize I may have gone a little overboard. But when I think back to holidays growing up, one of my favorite parts was decorating the house and preparing for the big event. It made the holidays that much better. So what’s the problem?
What I didn’t think about was the fact that although Marsh may like all the decorations, it might be a good idea to include him in the purchasing and choosing of said decorations. I didn’t think about the fact that it made him feel like he was living in someone else’s house instead of his own. I think I always assumed it should just be my job, but the more I think about it, the more I realize how much more fun and productive things are when we do them together. Not to mention, I’d prefer he not feel like he has warped back to the heart of the 80s when walking into our living room.