From the Heart
“Honey, I’m home.”
Chuck walked in the back door on Saturday night after keeping the scoreboard for another three games of state championship football.
Candles were lit. Snowmen were standing, sitting, smiling, and wearing their finest winter apparel.
Christmas trees and redbirds were tucked on the kitchen windowsill and countertops, the top of the antique secretary, on the piano, and nooks and crannies throughout the house.
The Nativity scene was displayed amongst candles and greenery and blocks with the names of Christmas hymns.
There was Joy, Peace, Noel and a Merry Christmas greeting anyone who would arrive to our home over the next few weeks before Christmas.
The first one that they greeted was my husband. After his “Honey, I’m home,” he gazed around at the sights with awe and wonder and exclaimed, “We have a Christmas explosion.”
Of course, I, who need words of affirmation, asked, “Do you like it?”
Knowing what I needed to hear, he assured me that it looked beautiful.
A few years ago, we decided we needed a new Christmas tree. When Chuck moved in after our wedding, he brought with him a baby grand piano. We tucked it into the corner of our living room where I always put the tree. We knew the new tree needed to be skinny to fit anywhere in our living room.
We ventured to Hobby Lobby where I found the perfect seven-foot tree. I turned around and saw Chuck eyeing a four-foot tree. He said, “Look honey, it’s perfect.” We left without a tree.
A couple days later, I came home from work to find the most beautiful seven-foot pencil tree that I had ever seen. He had a change of mind and thought my version of the perfect tree was indeed perfect.
As I decorated the tree this year, I thought of all the Christmases I spent alone. There were 14 of them.
Okay, I’m not going there nor I will be wiping tears.
Back to my story of decorating the house.
Chuck said, “Well, you sure love Christmas.” I smiled and told him it was my golf course. I knew he would understand the comparison to his love of golf.
He chuckled and said, “I thought the kitchen was your golf course.” Smiling, I exclaimed, “Oh, Honey, the kitchen IS my championship golf course. Christmas is my par three.”
And, again this year, Chuck leans a little to the left when he sits in his recliner as the perfect tree blocks his view of the right side of the TV screen. Maybe the tree isn’t exactly perfect in Chuck’s eyes but he does love me and believes the old saying … Happy Wife, Happy Life.
I love my perfect tree … and my almost perfect husband.