I don’t have my tree up yet. There, I said it.
A couple weeks ago, driving home from Thanksgiving weekend, I couldn’t believe how many windows were already lit with the glow of huge Christmas trees. Was I the only one who’d spent the day driving up I-95 with a car full of leftovers and my slightly cranky family? I thought I had at least another week to shift into Merry Mode. I felt the first pangs of my annual Decoration Guilt — and quickly took a breath. Not this year, I remembered. We’re skipping that tradition.
Decorating is not my strong suit. I’m good at other holiday stuff. Every December, I make huge batches of cookie dough to stick in the freezer, so we can bake fresh ones every night. I keep a running list of gift ideas in my phone, updating it throughout the year. But when it comes to decking halls, I simply lack the skills: My wreaths fall down, my tree lights wilt, and I’m always a couple weeks behind everyone else.
When I moved in with Harry — my then boyfriend, now husband — he suggested skipping the tree entirely. Harry was born in Soviet-era Bulgaria. He liked Christmas fine; he just didn’t get the fuss about decor. “Wouldn’t it be less stressful without all that?” Yes, I told him. And if he ever suggested a tree-free Christmas again, I would break the lease and walk out. We went to the tree stand that very day, and I did my usual sloppy job of stringing on lights. The next morning I came out to find that Harry had discreetly adjusted them, evening out the strands so they lay in perfect distribution across the boughs.
“Thanks,” I mumbled. This guy grew up in a country without Santa, and even he was better at decorating.
I always felt sheepish about my decorating prowess, but I never felt guilty until becoming a parent. Once our daughter, Margot, was born, holiday festivities weren’t just for fun anymore; they were about making memories and filling her childhood with magic. When we went tree shopping that year, I nabbed the biggest fir that would fit in our apartment. I didn’t even ask about prices before they wrapped it up. And that is the story of how I accidentally spent $400 on a Christmas tree. Plus tip. For a newborn.
I’d like to say that moment shook some sense into me, but alas, the urge to merry-make only got more intense. I learned to check prices, but I still felt driven to buy twinkly stuff each year — or, better yet, make some. Last year, I stayed up past 1 a.m. on a weeknight, waiting for the orange slices I was slow-drying in the oven to dry out enough to string into a garland. In the end, all but three slices turned out burnt or sticky or both. I’m not Marmee, I’m just mom!
I consoled myself that I was good at other things. But I still felt bad that all the decoration we had was a small (albeit affordable) tree, with no garland. Meanwhile, Harry, despite his lukewarm feelings, was killing it on the holiday-magic front. On Christmas Eve, he spontaneously designed a mailing label from the North Pole, and transformed Margot’s present into a package from Santa.
Can you believe that guy? By hand!
So, when fall rolled around this year, I braced myself for another season of decoration guilt. I’d pretty much resigned myself to feeling like seasonal failure, when — believe it or not – an Instagram reel snapped me out of it.
While scrolling one day, I landed on this reel from Chelsea Fagan — a writer best known for her financial-literacy content — on the difference between festivity and decoration. I was stunned; it suddenly felt so obvious. It was like one of those optical-illusion pictures, where you tilt your head and the rabbit turns into a duck.
Wreaths are not festivity. Wrapping paper is not celebration. Twinkle lights are really pretty, but they are not what make the memories. People do that — in a million different ways, for a million different reasons. For some, Christmas is about family and togetherness, and for others it’s about faith and worship, and of course, for many others, it’s someone else’s holiday.
From now on, instead of guilting myself over decoration guilt, I will focus on all the magic we’re making together. I think my daughter will remember making messy cookies with me on school nights. She’ll remember the three of us twirling around to cheesy Christmas pop tunes, and watching movies in a cozy pile on the couch. You know what she definitely won’t remember? That $400 tree. But we’ll all remember the story.
And I’m not here to poo-poo decorating — just the guilt. Decorating is festivity when it’s done in a festive spirit. One of my favorite memories is decorating Margot’s second Christmas tree. She’d just turned one, and was climbing everything — so eager to “help.” It was chaotic and hilarious and messy, and I think back on it every holiday season. But it’s her on the step-ladder, looking back at me, with her baby curls and round cheeks, that make the memory for me. Yes, the lights are really pretty. But they’re not the magic part.
P.S. 10 holiday rituals, and the funniest, simplest game to play before dinner.
