(previously published in The Kansas City Star on December 11, 2016)
Are you or a loved one overwhelmed by the decorations in your house? Are you able to skip through a path lined with stuffed Santas and reindeer in your front hall?
If you’ve ever been tied up so severely by the ankles with electrical cords at the beginning of December, you too, may be a Christmas Hoarder – or have other issues I’m not willing to discuss in print. Ahem!
My affinity for the red, green and sparkly started out simply when I was single. It’s almost Christmas and my choices were to sit alone by the CD player and cry to the empty sound of carols echoing through my quiet home, or to drown myself in eggnog and the 50 types of cookies I picked up after work.
Instead, I realized I could keep myself busy and in a festive, cheery mood if I decorated with authority.
For many years, I avoided reality with my shiny, twinkling, well-glittered collections. I skipped the light fandango while draping everything nailed down in boughs of holly. A glorious sight of winter themed rooms was my 1,100 square foot house. I was proud to be among the countless Christmas collectors, waving my festive Hoarder flag with pride.
Actually, I didn’t quite have a problem until I was married and had kids. The kid thing threw me over the edge into décor pandemonium. I lost all control probably by the time my girls were toddlers. I mean who wouldn’t love to live at a Midwestern North Pole?
My wonderful family and friends had an easy time deciding what gift to get me. My husband spoiled me with near life-sized Santas as Christmas presents.
We’ve been married for 13 years. You do the math.
My addiction recently came to a halt. If you are wondering what in the world could stop a crazy woman so abruptly, you’ve never had a Goldendoodle puppy. As I’m writing this I’m glancing into the cutest shaggy face covered in grass clippings and coffee grounds.
Playing in compost is awesome!
If anyone thought I’d lost my mind over the holidays before, you were wrong. This knee-jerked purchase has been the worst decision affecting my family’s winter holiday. Even worse than the 2010 gravy disaster! Now I love my dog, so don’t push the PEETA speed dial just yet. But I have the freedom in this country to speak my mind and tell anyone within earshot about the disastrous puppy who stole Christmas.
Her name is Bella Luna, which means beautiful moon in Italian. We should have named her Carpe Bella, then maybe we’d be able to have a Christmas tree this year. I know many of you might be thinking, “Build a wall!” That’s just stupid. Then we wouldn’t be able to see our beautiful symbol of light.
I can hear you yelling, “Don’t put the ornaments near the bottom!”
I’m sorry, that’s incorrect. She’s not a cat and won’t gently bat at glass balls and other family heirlooms. She’d eat them for breakfast! Actually, my husband, the dude who’s into lights, had one of his new illuminations demolished by the dog even before adding it to his Clark Griswold extravaganza. (Shh! He has a problem, but you didn’t hear it from me.)
Since we like to dwell on our misery, we have finally come up with a plan. No, Dad we aren’t going to hang it from the ceiling as you suggested! We will move the puppy’s metal fenced playpen to surround the tree and toss the presents over the top. Not exactly what this Christmas hoarder desires, but at least my disorder has been stopped.
Packing away crates still filled with unseen Santas and reindeer may not be the worst thing in the world. At least cleanup will be a lot faster in January!