What an unfortunate use of needlepoint skills

I am from New England, which is a funny place to be from. Full of contradictions, New Englanders have a distinctive accent that wavers between high-and-mighty and completely uneducated, they keep to themselves which can come off as being incredibly rude and exclusionary, and they embrace both ends of the political spectrum from liberal to conservative. Sometimes in the same sentence.

On the one hand, we New Englanders are sensible, no nonsense folks. We wear sensible shoes, we drive sensible cars, we own a sensible winter coat, etc.

On the other hand, we also embrace pants with animals embroidered on them, stupidly expensive sports like sailing and polo, and home decor with irreverent sayings that are supposed to be amusing but instead are borderline creepy. Case in point: This little gem my mother gave me shortly after my divorce. I was 20 years old, dating for the first time ever as an adult, and I can assure you that this put a damper on things in her guestroom, where I was living at the time, which I imagine was the whole point of giving it to me.

Like the classic musical number "Baby, It's Cold Outside" which my friend Matt recently pointed out seems to be a song about date rape, this is another entry in the annals of "I can't believe that's considered festive. Or appropriate." And then, just when you think you've gotten as festivly uncomfortable as possible, rising above the fray, there is my absolute favorite piece of holiday decor, the collectibles that remind me of home and traditions and the ones I love,  that really says "It's the holidays. Relax and let me help you enjoy the season.":

Santa and his merry band of carolers.

You guys, meet The Eunich:

My gosh, I just love the holidays.

I just wrote "moldy" instead of "holidays". A subconscious mind is a terrible thing to waste.

Hey, we made it! One holiday down, just a few more to go.

Now that we are officially in "the holiday season" - which I judge solely on the presence of eggnog in the grocery store - I decided to put up the tree.

Putting up a Christmas tree when you have OCD is possibly the most exhausting task ever. We had to get a fake tree because I couldn't handle the needles falling from a cut tree. And the water spilling on the floor underneath the tree. And the stickiness - I hate sticky. But by far, the hardest part of having any Christmas tree, real or fake, is the decorations. I have to physically leave the neighborhood in order to stop rearranging ornaments and lights. Wait. Hang on. Speaking of lights, that lightbulb is pointing UP when all of the other lights are pointed DOWN and I just have to.....okay. Better. Much better. Wait. There are two red bells rightnexttoeachother on the tree. My god, they might even be hanging from the same branch. Damn kids, not taking the "even distribution of ornaments" lecture that I gave them seriously. I knew she wasn't paying attention to my diagram when I reviewed it exhaustively before opening the boxes. Why I thought it was going to be a good idea to have the kids do the decorating is BEYOND ME because my right eye has been twitching for 18 hours and 4 ornaments are broken and things keep falling off because they haven't been hung in a secure fashion ( which is 1.75 inches-2.5 inches from the end of the branch, FYI). And then the Christmas lights stopped working. Only half of them light  up. It took me YEARS to find lights I could stand, and these are perfect and I have treasured them for lo and this many years and now they are KAPUT and that is NO BUENO.

Trust me when I tell you that the irony of my obsession with decorating the tree that we put up in honor of the holiday I despise is not lost on me. No, I am well aware that from the outside, it seems like one big huge contradiction - but from the inside it just feels like blind panic. Wrapped in the holiday spirit with a festive bow (a coordinating bow thankyouverymuch) on top.

So I grabbed my purse and went storming off to Ace Hardware in my pajamas, looking for a replacement for my precious perfect string lights. The pickings were slim. I found some nice looking lights, but they have LED bulbs and LED bulbs make me feel like my corneas are on fire. Which means that we have to go down to KMart and hope to GOD that they have a non-burny option. So I came home and informed the children who are cuddled up on the sofa watching movies that WE MUST GO TO TOWN. They looked at me standing theere in my pajamas with my hair standing straight on end and you could see it in their eyes: they think I am insane.

I am not insane, I am festive. WITH A COORDINATING BOW ON TOP.