January has come to a close, and as I have promised, I have compiled a rather short list of monthly favorites. Since the new year, I have spent the majority of my time buried in books or crouched over a keyboard, but from the rare moments I came up for air, a few choice products and experiences stood out. I'm going to quickly share them because Ibsen's A Doll's House is not going to analyze itself. Canada's Worst Driver
I realize I am a sick, twisted person to admit this, but I am obsessed with Canada's Worst Driver on Netflix. Imagine Worst Cooks in America and your high school driver's ed class had a love child that says aboot and caer. That pretty much sums up this show. I don't know why watching people back into stacks of wheels or rip the bumper off a sports car brings me so much joy, but I binged both seasons in two days. OBSESSED. #straightAstudent #nosleep
These Four Walls - Little Mix
Do you ever just wake up cloaked in angst? I did for the first two weeks of January. I blame the overcast skies and sub-zero temperatures that confined me to my house. When my seasonal depression made leaving a cocoon of blankets almost too painful to bear, I would jump in the shower, crank the water temperature to blisteringly hot, and play this song as loud as my phone could muster. Though my skin would turn red from the lava flowing from the shower head, I would get chills from the emotional vulnerability in these ladies voices. Don't knock it til you try it.
Laundry Room Floor
After our water heater had flooded our basement and garage at the beginning of October, the floor in our hallway and laundry room was partially torn up. In December, my dad and hubby patched the hallway floor and garage drywall, but the laundry room still needed new floors, doors, drywall work, and baseboards. Our contractor was booked out till January, but since I had already spent two months acclimating to a ripped-up laundry room, waiting an additional month didn't bother me. However, I'm glad the new floor is finally here. I didn't realize how cold the old stick tiles were until I could compare them with the updated vinyl. The vinyl is slightly padded and warm under my feet, and because the laundry room doesn't have a heat vent, this flooring actually helps maintain a comfortable temperature. Folding clothes just got much more manageable.
Book Shelves
When we purchased this house, we had a solid plan for the layout. We wanted the upstairs living room to double as the kids play space, and we wanted the downstairs family room to be an adult space. No toys. Glass decorations. Casual sophistication. After dealing with mothering madness all day, I wanted to be able to go downstairs, shut the door behind me, and sit in a beautiful, clean, relaxing oasis.
This is what our family room looked like when the previous owners lived here. They installed a surround sound system that connects to a large amplifier. On either side of the fireplace, they built matching bookshelves which gave the room a balanced, homey feeling. When we moved in, I knew I wanted to purchase similar-looking bookshelves. Unfortunately, bringing my vision to life was not as easy as I thought it would be. We needed something tall, but short enough to fit under the speakers. We needed something narrow enough to fit between the wall and the mantle. We needed shelves deep enough to accommodate the amp. AND we needed something inexpensive but that didn't look cheap. It was a tall order to fill. Get it? Tall order? Because the bookshelves were. . . oh nevermind.
While I searched, a rickety white bookshelf and one of those wire cubby systems flanked the television and housed our movies, games, and technology. You can see them peeking out in these pictures. It was functional but unattractive and instead of feeling like my sacred retreat, this room felt like some dorms had vomited in our basement. After a year of scouring Ikea, Shopko, Target, Homegoods, Wayfair, and even RC Willey, I finally settled on these bookshelves from Shopko.
These shelves have completely changed the appearance and feeling of this room. My new full-time hobby is taking pictures of my beautiful black babies from various angles and in different lighting. If I lay down to watch a show, I spend more time looking at the shelves than I do at the TV.
I realize it's excessive, but obsession is not always logical. Paul and I have been married almost eight years and have survived on hand-me-down furniture (for which I have been incredibly grateful), but it is also exciting to be old, established grown-ups and purchase pieces that express who we are.
Loreal True Match Mineral Foundation
Once upon a time when I was eighteen years old, my mother took me to Rite-Aid and bought my very first set of makeup. As a creature of habit, I continued to buy the exact same makeup for years without ever dipping my toes into the vast pond of drugstore brands. A couple of summers ago, my cousin gave me a mascara sample that changed my life. After one use, I realized how poorly my old mascara was performing. Sadly, the sample was from a pricey company, but it set me on a journey to find a drugstore dupe that would make my eyes look like a Disney princess. The more I experimented with mascara, the braver I felt trying different brands of eyeshadows, blushes, and foundations. I uncovered some gems too, except with foundations. I actually loved the foundation my mother picked out, but the brand repackaged and renamed it, and thought they no longer made it. I tried at least five other powder foundations and one liquid, hoping to find something comparable, but I hated all of them. For years, I have been covering my face with garbage I was just trying to use up, and I really began to hate putting on makeup. Consequently, I began hating my face too.
At the beginning of January, I bought a new powder foundation that seemed similar to the one my mom bought me nine years ago. Since I still had the original packaging, I was able to compare the two and realized they were the same thing. It's the Loreal True Match mineral foundation, and it is amazing. The active ingredients are clouds and angel dandruff. The powder is so soft and finely milled that it blends effortlessly. When I used the foundation years ago, I remember having a conversation with my sister-in-law about my makeup routine and telling her I didn't use concealer. She was shocked. How can you live without concealer? However, when I ran out of that original foundation and began to purchase other brands, the need for concealer quickly became apparent. This worried me. Was my skin betraying me at such a young age and deteriorating rapidly? Was my nose always this red? Were my cheeks always this blotchy? It took me a while to realize it was not my skin that had changed so suddenly. It was the new foundations that severely lacked the effortless coverage I'd become accustomed to.
Here is a stripe of permanent marker and five samples of foundations from my makeup drawer. The Loreal foundation is the light one in the middle (because it's winter and I'm a pale princess). It actually masks a lot of the red, and when it blends out, it looks creamy and flawless. The two on either side of the Loreal have zero coverage (and yes, they are powder foundations, not just pressed powder) The bottom one was okay, but when I wore it on my face, it looked like sidewalk chalk. The top shade is a liquid foundation that oxidizes to a lovely shade of orange. On days when I'm going for that Ompa Lompa look, this foundation is perfect. Just not on all of the other days, you know?
Here's a picture of my face, so you see the full effect of this mineral makeup. The left side is bare, and the right side has nothing but powder foundation which masks my red nose, freckles, splotchy cheeks, and leaves me with an airbrushed finish. (Bonus: If you want to look like you are glowing from within, add a little Elf illuminating powder to the top of the cheeks. Gorgeous.) I know this is such a strange thing for me to write about, and believe me, there is no end to the discomfort I feel posting this. However, this foundation made a significant impact on my month. I felt less self-conscious and looked forward to getting ready in the morning with fast and flawless makeup.
I’m graduating in seven weeks. SEVEN weeks. It almost seems unreal. I have been in and out of school with three different majors and three different universities for nearly ten years just trying to obtain a bachelor’s degree all while popping out babies. There were several moments where the finish line seemed impossibly far, and I assumed I’d be in my forties or fifties by the time I wore a cap and gown again. Amazingly, in seven weeks, I will finally realize the dream I have worked and sacrificed so much for. I wish I could say this was the end of my school days, but I still have a master’s degree on the horizon. However, I will be taking a year off between degrees to rest, recuperate, and give my kids some extra lovin’ to make up for all of the days and nights I impatiently rushed them to bed or shushed them incessantly so I could work on homework. During this coming year, I want to revive my neglected blog, finish editing my book, and reorganize my house (you should see the guest room. . . yikes).
Part of my blog revival will be weekly posts. Mostly, there will be the same old stories about my life, cooking disasters, and overly dramatic moments, but I also want to do monthly favorites. My most beloved blog, Young House Love, used to do monthly superlatives, and I enjoyed reading those posts. I thought it might be fun to share some of my favorite things like activities I’ve done with my kids or recipes that made my taste buds sing. Maybe even some beauty items will make it in there. Because December was such a busy month, it seems like the perfect time to begin this tradition.
December Favorites
My Fireplace
Who knew that a gas fireplace could be so expensive? Not me. When we moved into the house last January, I turned the fireplace on almost every night. But a $170 gas bill seemed like a steep price to pay for a little ambiance. Paul forbade encouraged me to save the flickering flames for special occasions. WHAT IS MORE SPECIAL THAN CHRISTMAS? The excitement of opening presents on Christmas morning was only enhanced by a roaring fire. I highly recommend it. If you don’t have a fireplace, maybe open presents by the kitchen stove for a similar effect?
Christmas Attire
Much to my grand dismay, I was not invited to an ugly Christmas sweater party this year. Okay, I’ve never been invited to an ugly Christmas sweater party, but I imagine they are the most enjoyable thing on this great green earth. Second to white elephant, of course. Anyway, because I had no party permitting me to dress like a mom from an 80’s Christmas card, I decided to wear my husband’s sweater and some gaudy earrings on a random weekday. I secretly hoped someone would notice and think, I bet that eccentric woman would be fun to invite to my ugly sweater party. I’m still waiting for an invitation, but in the meantime, I found the holiday attire really lifted my spirits. Washing dishes felt romantically domestic. Grocery shopping made me feel like Mrs. Krank. Wiping Sam’s bum after a number two was suddenly like frosting a yule log. My afternoon nap dreams even consisted of dancing sugar plums. New life goal: Christmas sweater for every day of December.
Arctic Circle Cookie Butter Shake
Shut. The. Front. Door. This was one of the most heavenly treats to cross the threshold of my house this month. It’s a vanilla base with Biscoff cookie butter incorporated into the clouds of bliss. Paul brought one home as a surprise on a particularly stressful day, and as I stared into his beautifully blue, caring, thoughtful eyes while we shared the cup of heaven, I couldn’t help but think, Gee, I wish he would go away so I can have this all to myself. It was that delicious, people. Go get one before the holiday flavors are gone.
Telestrations
Photo retrieved from https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/I/91D9%2BiPsBHL._SX355_.jpg
I’ve had the opportunity to play this game a few times this month, and no matter what group I played with, I laughed till I cried. There is no strategy required, so when your brain feels like mush after gorging yourself with tasty delights, this game is the perfect solution to distract from the painful digestion occurring deep within your bowels. Try it. It will not disappoint.
Our Ward Party Santa
If this Santa is not the big man himself from the actual North Pole, then I’m not detail-oriented. When we heard the announcement that Santa was coming onto the stage at our ward Christmas party, we were desperate for Sam to meet Santa for the first time for that quintessential photo op. As we searched for the illusive lad, I notice a woman pointing to the stage. Santa walked out and waved to the crowd, and our little Sam was trailing behind him, absolutely spellbound. Apparently, Sam found him in the hall and had been following him ever since. Santa gave him a hug and pulled him onto his lap. He spoke so softly that I couldn’t hear their conversation, but as Sam came off the stage from his magical moment, he looked up at me and said, “Mom! Santa loves me!” My heart melted right there onto the floor, and I had to use my coat to wipe up the mess. Annie, unlike Sam, was scared to see Santa and came running from the line crying. I gave her a minute to watch the other children, and she decided she could try again if I came with her. Once her turn arrived, she seemed pretty calm. She wouldn’t sit on Santa's lap, but he gave her a hug and asked her about her Christmas wish. It was such a sweet moment that I suddenly understood why so many moms stand in obscene lines at the mall (though I was also grateful I didn’t have to).
Temple Square
Many Utahans have a December tradition of visiting Temple Square to see the Christmas lights. It’s been a couple of years since I’ve had the opportunity to do so, and I forgot what an incredible experience it is. If you’re into crazy crowds of cold, grumpy adults and frostbitten children blocking all of the best views, I highly suggest going the three or four days before Christmas like we did. I got some of the most beautiful pictures of strangers looking surprised by my flash. I spent half of the tour shouting, “Hold my hand!” or “Hold Daddy’s hand!” or “Do we have all of our children?” or “Sam?! Where are you?” Really, it was a great vocal exercise that properly prepped my voice to belt Christmas songs over the sounds of my kids' over-tired sobs on the drive home. In all honesty, I’m glad I went. We got to go went with my in-laws and had a lovely bonding experience. Annie has already asked when we can go back. Next year, I’ll try to go earlier in the month.
My New Laptop
This is my ugly cry, courtesy of my mom.
Though I'm usually not keen on publicizing Christmas presents, as I type this blog post on a particular present, I can’t help but think of it as my number one favorite thing. Nine years ago, I saved up my pennies and bought my first laptop. His name was Harvey, and he was my baby. I used to polish his glossy exterior, slip him into my backpack, and carry him with me across campus. I remember sitting in this little nook in the Jesse Knight Building (JKB) at BYU and being warmed by the laptop as I analyzed African Bushman or Baroque architecture. Harvey made me feel like I was playing college student similar to the way fun food made me feel like I was playing house. Unfortunately, like most technology, he started to slow down and freeze up when I tried to perform simple tasks. When we moved here in January, it took the internet company a month to come out and hook up our router to their network. In the meantime, I dragged Harvey to the empty townhouse every evening so I could work on homework. His glitchiness reached an all-time high as every click took at least ten minutes to compute and typing had a 15-second delay. I was in constant fear that I would lose my work, and once the internet was installed in the new house, I retired poor Harvey to my backpack permanently. Though I have a computer to do my homework on now, I have missed the freedom my laptop afforded me. There are Saturdays when I drive 40 minutes to do homework at my parent’s house when a laptop could take me a mile away to the library for some quiet study time. There are also so many nights when the stationary computer is too far from my sick children’s bedrooms or the areas where they play. During this month alone, there were several nights where my kids coughed and heaved, and I cried on the couch because I felt so torn between them and my grades. My sweet family noticed my laptopless stress and pooled their money to buy me a beautiful, shiny, new laptop for Christmas. I still tear up thinking about it. Harvey 2.0 is going to help me finish out the next seven weeks and then carry me on into the master’s degree. I feel so loved and blessed by my favorite people who gave me my favorite gift.
This month is flying by way too fast, and I feel like I haven't had much time to soak in the season. I'm incredibly thankful for Christmas music that can make washing dishes, cleaning toilets, and snuggling sick kids just a little more festive. The next few days will be filled with the best kind of madness and people I love like crazy. For me, being around family and friends is one of the best gifts ever, only second to my Savior.
As I've read a piece of the nativity story with my children each morning, I have been so touched by the simplicity. Sometimes I feel this need for more stuff or more adventures or more talent or more praise. But that is not what Christ wanted us to have more of. He wanted us to have more charity. More love. More compassion. More understanding. More joy. More peace. That is what I want to strive for in the upcoming year. I hope you all have a merry Christmas filled with all of the best and most worthwhile mores.
Have you ever been sick with severe congestion and lost your sense of taste for so long that you almost forgot what strong flavors were like? Have you ever been so cold that you lost some feeling in your toes but didn't realize it until you stepped in the shower and your feet couldn't feel the heat of water beating down? Have you ever been unaware that you've become desensitized to a sound until someone asks you how you are not bothered by the rattle or beeping or incessant sound of screams? Maybe these aren't relatable questions, but I know I have personally experienced them all. I have been numb and not even realized it.
I was scrubbing dishes this evening while my children frolicked in the living room. Annie was being abducted by Miss Hanigan, and Sam was trying to save her with a toy broom. My iPod sang from across the counter, and I belted out the familiar words. I could see my reflection in the dark window, face illuminated by the overhead light, and I allowed my shoulders to dance as my hands scraped away at crispy egg residue in my non-stick skillet. Glancing over at the microwave, I realized it was time for baths, so with a flick of my fingers, I pulled them from the sink, dried them on a Christmas towel, and then swooped up my stinky son. When both kids were naked and blanketed in bubbles, I stepped back into the kitchen to finish cleaning. A new song played from the iPod dock, and I recognized it as a waltz. Embolden by a lack of witnesses, I began to box step in my kitchen, which soon evolved into copious amounts of twirling and general merriment as the sexy trumpet cried and a gritty voice professed his love in a sweeping melody. I could feel my extremities fill with a radiant, youthful light which seemed to shoot from my fingertips with every extension of my arm. I closed my eyes and remembered the exhilaration of fanning out and facing the stage lights at my high school ballroom concert. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three! I spun out and then spun back in, except it was not into the arms of an imaginary partner but the countertop. A gasp of pain escaped my lungs which was shortly replaced by embarrassed and amused chortles. I looked up at the dark window over the sink and studied my carefree smile in awe at the uplifting powers of a simple song.
Two years ago, I rarely listened to music. It played in my car to drown out the sounds of crying children, but at home, it was a rarity. If you know me well, you may find this odd. I have always loved music. I sang in the choir in elementary school. I played the clarinet and did musical theater when I was in junior high and high school. At BYU, I was never without my iPod to set the tone of my campus walks. However, while I was in the throws of depression, music didn't feel the same. It didn't feel like much of anything if I'm honest. It was merely white noise. At the time, I chalked it up to growing older and sluffing off the last of my childhood, but now that music once again invigorates my soul, I realize I was just numb.
'Twas the night before Thanksgiving, and all through someone else's house,
My children ran around screaming as I smiled at my spouse.
The smell of Sam's poopy diaper wafted through the air.
With black pens, we signed on the dotted line with great care.
We were buying a new house, one with a yard and tire swing.
I could already see myself hosting some day on Thanksgiving.
On Black Friday, I slinked into the Walmart for packing tape,
When there, in a cart, was clearance turkey napkins and plates.
I bought up the lot with my dreams still in mind
And then tucked them away till it was their moment to shine!
And that was this year. This year I was privileged to host, for the very first time, the Hatchett Family Thanksgiving dinner. I spent days prepping and rearranging to prepare for the feast. Everything had to be perfect, or no one would ever want to come back. On Monday, my mom brought her long folding table and eight chairs. On Tuesday, I cooked up a practice turkey breast in the crock pot and toasted up the bread for the stuffing. On Wednesday, I rearranged the kitchen and living room so the long folding table sat beneath the dining room chandelier, and our small kitchen table was nestled warmly by the fireplace. On Thursday morning, I arose at half past five to butcher and prep my turkeys before lowering them into the crockpot. I combined the extra bones and bits with some carrots, onions, celery, and garlic, and covered it in water in my deepest stock pot to create a homemade broth for the gravy. It simmered for three hours as I set and decorated the table. In my rush, I forgot to snap a picture, but it looked a little something like this:
Except instead of a fine linen tablecloth, imagine a charcoal gray bed sheet folded in half. Instead of embroidered cushioned chairs, imagine folding chairs. Instead of heirloom pumpkins and candles, imagine sparkly plastic gourds and leaf garlands from the dollar store. Instead of a crystal stemware, imagine gold Solo cups, and instead of name cards, imagine names written on those Solo cups with a Sharpie. Instead of silver cutlery, imagine clear plastic utensils. Instead of intricate chargers and china, imagine paper plates with pumpkins and turkeys printed on them. And instead of cloth napkins, imagine paper napkins with a homemade napkin ring made from a plastic leaf hot-glued to a twisty tie. Something like this:
You know, real classy.
One by one, cars pulled into the driveway, and relatives from near and less-near arrived with rolls, salads, potatoes, carrots, pies, and bubbly drinks. Every item was absolutely scrumptious, and we gorged ourselves until passing out all over the couches was the only option. After the kitchen was clean and the tables were clear of all the disposable finery, we built a puzzle while telling those same old family stories that never cease to make us laugh. We nibbled on pies and played games. A Jimmy Hendrix documentary serenaded the house while the men talked of cars. Downstairs, a quiet group clicked away on controllers as they battled on an Xbox game. Annie, Sam, and their favorite second cousin played quietly, moving from one room to the next in an intricate dinosaur game.
When we went under contract for this house just one year ago, I couldn't have imagined of a better day in this beautiful home. Thanks, Hatchetts! You made my dreams come true!
My phone buzzed, and I stretched my legs as I glared at the clock. Eleven. Who was texting me at this hour? My arm emerged from the warmth of my blanket and retreated quickly once my phone was in hand. Squinting from the burning brightness of the screen, I swiped my passcode and read the notification. It was from Facebook. I was being invited to my ten-year class reunion. It's bizarre to think it's been that long since I played in the pep band at the many losing football games or ate lunch in Room 610 with what modern teens call a "squad." I laid under the light of the supermoon, staring up at his magnified face, as I thought back on my experiences walking the halls of my high school, faces and names washed over me. I could feel discomfort from sitting beside my tenth-grade crush as he called me a "shaky chihuahua." I could taste the white roll my best friend donated to my lunchlessness every day. I could see the acne of another friend's face and feel my skin crawl at the white eyes that watched me from his cheeks. I recalled the boy from twelfth-grade English who, after teasing me from across the room for the past two years, was assigned to sit directly in front of me and pass his quizzes back for grading. Suddenly, he was so kind and treated my like we had been pals all along. I closed my eyes and breathed in that familiar scent of my AP science class where two best friends welcomed me into their circle and helped me feel less alone because my two best friends graduated the year before. A pit formed in my stomach as I remembered my first date and the first time holding hands. I was so anxious then but also flattered that someone may actually like me. The song he dedicated to me rang in my ears, and I could still see his childish grin. I could vividly recall reading my angsty poetry to the horrified faces of my classmates and the blank faces of Mr. Park's taxidermy collection. I smiled at the moon (or the tsuki) as I thought about the notes passed in Japanese and the doodle wars in math class.
There was this guy named Ryan and, for reasons unbeknownst to me, my best friend called him Julie when we passed him in the halls. His long, straw-like hair was always dyed exotic colors ranging from lime green to hot pink, and he wore it confidently while walking with a slouching swagger.
My statistics teacher asked me to be her teacher's assistant during A4. While grading papers, a student stole my expensive graphing calculator and scratched my name off the back. He didn't know about the hidden initials inside the battery case.
Once in Ballroom class, I watched a boy drag his tongue grotesquely across his palms repeatedly and slide them through his unwashed hair during roll call. When it was time to pick a partner, he chose my best friend. It wasn't until lunch time when she nibbled on her pizza that I remembered to tell her about the hand-licker. We were careful to avoid dancing with him after that.
On the Vegas/San Diego band tour, a fellow clarinetist formed an unhealthy attachment to me. He always sat beside me on the bus, wrote me notes in his secret language, and tried to hold my hand whenever he saw an opportunity. Only sixteen, I didn't know how to navigate the experience. I tried to be nice without leading him on, but this backfired, and he was convinced I liked him too. He never knew how uncomfortable he made me or the lengths I went to avoid him.
I thought of all these people and more while the moon watched with wide eyes and mouth agape. I studied his craters, trying to memorize the marbled pattern. The longer I peered at the celestial being, the heavier I felt. I remembered so much, but I couldn't help but wonder what people remembered about me. Would they look back with fondness at some witty joke I made about Harry Potter in Sociology, or would they remember a snappy remark that I spat through my defensive shell? Would they remember that I was smart and loved learning or that I was a know-it-all who raised my hand too much? Was there someone laying in bed looking at their Facebook invitation who remembered sitting beside me in band, or will I show up and sit alone because I was too forgettable?
The saddest thing is I don't which bothers me more, being remembered for my weaknesses or not being remembered at all.
We signed the papers for this house the day before Thanksgiving. I remember the intense nerves that plagued the holiday as we planned a weekend of staging the townhouse for sale. Everything was happening so fast. Just days before, the thought of moving was the last thing on our minds, and then this home found us, like a gift from God, and we knew that we needed to take a leap of faith. When I toured the house, I imagined stockings hanging above the hearth, and the rag garland I had just tied draped over the mantle. I remembered all of the chimney-less years I snuck out of my bed on Christmas Eve to unlock the front door for Santa and realized my children would feel some security that Santa could easily find his way in.
On November 7, 2014, I went to a Relief Society activity with my daughter and left my boys at home. After an hour or two away, I walked through front door to find my Christmas tree prematurely built and lit in the corner of my living room. My husband turned and smile at my stunned look. I was raised that the Christmas tree doesn't go up 'til the first week of December and especially not before Thanksgiving. But there it was, mocking me in the corner.
"Paul, why is there a tree in the living room?" I asked through gritted teeth.
He shrugged. "Sam and I got bored."
By now, Annie's eyes were as lit as the tree, and her mouth hung open in wonder. I knew I had already lost a war that had not yet begun, so I kept the tree up, and in the morning, I pulled out the rest of the decorations. While my initial attitude was sour, I soon fell in love with my festive abode and the way it prematurely shifted my focus to the birth of Christ. Thanksgiving was not forgotten. I found my heart more full of gratitude when I was surrounded by nativities than fat, brown birds. So, we made decorating the first week of November a new tradition at my house.
This year was more special though because we finally got to hang our stockings on the mantle. I made these stockings from this pattern when Sam was a baby. They are blue and zebra to match our old living room. Next year I want to make new stockings in more traditional colors. I won't be in school, so I'm hoping I will have time. The Christmas plaque and count-down charger were last year's Relief Society Super Saturday crafts.
The garland was inspired by this post. My mom made one for her fireplace a couple of years ago, and I fell in love with it, so much so that I spent an entire year planning my own garland. I purchased clearance fabric and LED lights the day after Christmas and saved them for the next fall when I could tie the fabric strips onto the sting whilst enjoying a holiday comedy on Netflix. I had so much left-over fabric that I bought a wire wreath form and tied a wreath too. They look adorable in the light of day. . .
But magical in the dark of night.
Blue and green might not be the most traditional holiday color scheme, but since I'm not biggest fan of red, I don't mind. Besides, it matches our living room, so I think it all works somehow.
The kids sure love it.
While our Christmas decor is typically limited to our living room, this year, it spilled into the dining room. The large passway facilitated extra flourishes to maintain flow. I found Santa hat chair covers at The Dollar Tree. THE DOLLAR TREE, PEOPLE! I have been wanting to make these for years but haven't had the means or time, but when I realized I could have jolly chairs for just four bucks, I squealed with delight and shoved these bad boys in my cart.
On our TV-stand-turned-hutch, I made a snowy scene with Dollar Tree tinsel. It's giving me all the feels, and I am itching to host a holiday friend party. Can't you just imagine sitting in Santa chairs arguing over Monopoly? Yes, please.
I know my decorations are cheap and simple, but they make me incredibly happy. Every day when I'm preparing meals for my family, I look out over the joyful scene and tear up a little. I'm so incredibly grateful for this beautiful home that is filled with happiness, laughter, and a spirit of peace. After years of temporary lodgings, I finally feel home for Christmas.
