Probably the saddest thing about Christmas is taking everything down which signifies the end of the holiday season. I helped my mom take down all of her Christmas decorations which took us over four hours and we were just exhausted afterwards. There’s nothing I hate more than trying to put the lights away. Honestly, how do they tangle themselves???
We were chit chatting and I was saying how I feel bad to kill a tree every single year, dress it up like a cheap whore, and then dump it on the curb when it no longer has a use for me. There was a recent episode of Shark Tank where this guy owns a bunch of various kinds of Christmas trees and rents them to people every year. They stay potted so they stay alive and then the guy delivers it and picks it up afterward. I thought this was the best thing I’d ever heard but he only works locally somewhere in southern Cali. Poop. Someone needs to do this out here. Not me, but someone.
The end of Christmas always makes the house look so barren, like something is missing. I think there needs to be another major holiday that people decorate their house for.
Part of taking all the decorations down is to help my parents get ready for a kitchen renovation. I’ve watched my fair share of do-it-yourself shows therefore I am an expert at all aspects of it. So, we were also trying to get some stuff organized and out of the way before construction starts. It might just be my family but it seems like anything that can go wrong will go wrong. Every tiny thing is so frustrating and complicated and it feels like nothing gets accomplished. Like, we wanted to move the cook books out of the kitchen but still have them be accessible so we decided to clear some space on the bookshelf. Okay. To do that we had to remove all of the National Geographic magazines. Seems easy. Except that there’s two decades of issues that apparently weight 500 pounds. So we got the rolling cart out of the garage and knocked over a box of stuff doing so we get that cleaned up, knock into some other stuff and just be awkward all the way there. I almost hurt my back putting the magazines in the cart and then clumsily move it into the garage.
All this just to move the cook books 15 feet.