I hear that my daughter opined, on her facebook status, that the ugliest angel in the world lives on top of our tree. (No, we aren’t friends–in that sense–thank you. We actually speak, face to face. Well. Most of the time. Sometimes she texts me from her bedroom.)
She might be right about the angel. It’s made out of corn husks and fake hair. Probably circa 1983. When I inherited it from my mother-in-law, I stripped all the peach-colored ribbons and lace from it and modernized it somewhat. Circa 1993.
Which is, granted, older than all my children:
And yes, this year we are having a truly traditional Christmas, complete with our own Tiny Tim. (He eats Cheez-Its and has an MP3 player, which probably breaks all Dicken’s rules, but hey, it’s a twenty-first century remake.) We stuck his bed in the corner of the living room so that we aren’t tripping on him all day, nor does he have to spend an entire month in isolation downstairs. He did a number on his leg while sledding the day after Thanksgiving, thanks to which I spent a significant portion of my time off in the ER, but he got to have a star-trekish experience in the radiology department, so it was all good, right? He gets a cast of smaller dimensions and the ability to arise from his pallet a few days before Christmas, but then he won’t get to spy on Santa, either, so it’s a trade off.
Daughter called me from Target yesterday. “Mom, there’s a star here that would look good on top of our tree.” This is the child who vetoed all her childhood ornaments this year–along with every other ornament that was not red or gold. You should have seen their reactions when I tried to oust some of these ornaments in previous years. Pure panic. Anyway. The tree looked really nice–minus the angel.
So I told her to buy the star. That was the easy part.
Getting it on the tree? Not so much. My husband came down after a ten minute wrestling match, with glitter on his face and a pronouncement that we need to affix the thing to a ten foot rod and jam it down the center of the tree. Not a bad idea. For now it’s somewhat lopsided:
The ousted angel lay on her corn husk back, staring up with disdain at the entire process. She’s thinking, Serves you right–thinking I could be so easily replaced.