You can't hum to a top ten...err, eight.

About two weeks ago, we put up the Christmas tree. It was a little different this year with my brother still in Spain and my father now living in California. There was no bickering and jostling over which unfortunate child would be stuck with helping dad string the lights. No friendly griping over the outrageous mound of ornaments waiting to be hung. I didn't even get to kangaroo fight my sibling for the sacred honor of placing the angel on top of the tree. It was so......quiet. And unusual.

Mom and I silently unpacked our Christmas boxes and made small proclamations of surprise when we stumbled upon some yuletide treasure we had forgotten. We listened to Mariah Carey and Josh Groban belt out carols from our computer speakers and danced with Brae in the kitchen to Baby it's Cold Outside. We collaborated on the small white tree lights and mom placed the angel on the top of the tree as I stood back and directed her positioning. Brae hung plastic ornaments in sporadic clumps on the bottom 1/4 of the tree as I placed the crystal ones far out of his reach. We finished with great flourish and the three of us ran outside to behold our creation from the street.

It was calm, less stressful. I found myself actually enjoying the task that I had once relished with about as much gusto as I had for washing my car. (Which, by the way, has not been washed since the end of summer.)
And with my new serene outlook on obligatory Christmas activities came this awareness:

My mom has a ass load of tacky Christmas ornaments.

And just to prove it to you, I have a few examples. I was going to do this kitschy little number where I substituted the ornaments for the gifts in Twelve Days of Christmas and made witty accompanying lyrics that subtly shamed them, but then I realized that I had only taken pictures of EIGHT tacky ornaments and eight is the number of nights in Hanukkah- not Christmas. And we are not Jewish-- even if your sibling had once permed his hair in an attempt to appear such.

So, I'm thinking that instead of a song we'll do a top ten. Like Letterman- only with eight, not ten.

PROOF THAT MY MOTHER LOVES HER CHILDREN or why our Christmas tree looks homeless.

#8 THE FARTING REINDEER



Sure he looks unoffensive enough, but take a closer peek at the message on his banner and then push the tiny button. There is nothing innocent about his reindeer games.

#7 THE CLASSIC POPSICLE STICK FRAME



As you can clearly see, I was a fucking PRO at hearts.

#6 GLITTER BALL



I know technically I shouldn't count the homemade ornaments. But this one counts because I had rotten teeth in the picture. CLASSY MOM.

#5 MORE POPSICLE ART



Sometimes Brae brings home projects that he's done in school and after elaborating just how AWESOME said project is, I silently slip it into the trash can when he isn't looking. I can see this is not a learned behavior.

# 4 THE FIVEL STOCKING



No doubt received in a 1986 Happy Meal.

#3 THE SHAMED CHERUB



This item is unclaimed. No name, no date. Nothing. Though I suspect that someone once tossed it into our mailbox and mom was all, 'Oooh! Treasure!"

#2 THE CERAMIC CLOWN



It's bad enough to have a CLOWN dangling from your Christmas tree. But a clown whose arms have been amputated? Inappropriate.

#1 THE ALUMINUM SPIDER



What is silver, has eight legs and two red beady eyes? Why, the holiday spider of course! A distant cousin of the holiday armadillo.

As much entertainment as I have found in mocking the random and bizarre ornamental selection on our tree, I have to give my mom kudos for hanging on to all those trinkets from 20 years ago. Our tree is like some giant time capsule- documenting both mine and my brother's childhood.
Every ornament has a story. Even if that story is, "I don't know where this ornament came from or why the hell we still hang it on the tree 20 years later". It's unique and quirky. Fun in that random sense and I honestly hope that when I do have my own Christmas tree once more, it will be every bit as tacky as this one.