I guess it’s a Kindergarten teacher gene still in me that makes me love decorating for holidays. Not just Christmas or Easter, but I really do have boxes of St. Patrick’s Day decorations as well as a box labeled, “Groundhog’s Day” that is full of fluffy little rodents in top hats.
Every year, I’ve pulled out the correct storage bin, or “bins” for the larger celebrations, like Mardi Gras, and lovingly adorned our house, thinking in the back of my head, “My boys will always remember our happy house and how we loved celebrating the fun times.” Well, I should have known better.
To create my spectacular tree, I had carefully selected long twigs from the yard, based upon their shape and fluffy moss content, and had arranged them in a large vase and hung happy little Easter eggs, jelly beans and bunnies from the tips. Remembering the Southern rule, “a fluffy bow is the way to go” I tied pastel bows to some of the twigs and beneath the entire masterpiece, arranged framed photos of the boy’s past Easters.
“What Easter tree?” was his reply.
“The tree on the sideboard in the dining room.”
“Oh, when did you put that up?”
“About two weeks ago. We’ve had dinner in there every night since then. You didn’t notice it?”
I was crushed. How would he ever grow up to tell his wife what an awesome mother I’d been if he didn’t ever notice how awesome I was in the first place?
All my hard work was for naught. My festivities and spectacular holiday displays were useless. Meaningless. Senseless.
A few days later, he came swinging into the house and announced, “Hey mom! I have some friends with me.” I heard a commotion and definitely some high-pitched giggles mixed in with the regular boys. Girls! Girls were in my house, and I hadn’t even checked the bathroom for cleanliness that day! I knew this day would come, and I wasn’t ready. If he had warned me ahead of time, not only would I have cleaned, but I would have also made tiny triangle sandwiches. Girls love those. I would have made . . . click HERE to finish the story at AL.com