Mr. Christmas

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Mr. Christmas: “Just a suggestion if you’re trying to find me a present.”

Because who wouldn’t want a #Christmas sweater with BLINKING LIGHTS on it?! I swear I was dying. What teenager would be caught in something like this?

Only mine.

He also showed me a bathrobe that looks like Santa’s outfit, all red and furry with white trim. “Mr. Christmas” is what D1 goes by this time of year, although his holiday planning usually begins around the time “Christmas in July” sales hit in the midst of the sweltering days of summer. This kid absolutely loves Christmas.

He plans lights, complete with diagrams of how he will hang them in his room, on the house, and on the tree. He doesn’t always go by these plans, mainly because by November he’s lost the paper he drew them on, but he remembers.

He has the memory of an elephant when it comes to things like this. Details. And Christmas. It’s never very far from his mind.

I no longer decorate the tree.

Or the house. It’s all I can do to keep him from doing it before Halloween. (Don’t even get me STARTED on Halloween decorations. He pushes for those, too! When I won’t give in he starts asking about the Christmas decor.)

We have a deal: He gets to bring out all the Christmas stuff the day after Thanksgiving.

Yes, Black Friday is Christmas decoration day at the Perkins! It’s kind of nice, actually, when I do bother to go shopping that day. I come home to the tree up and decorated and some years he’s got it ALL done by noon. Not this year, but some years.

My contribution is to make sure the special, family ornaments I really love are A) on the tree and B) up where the grandbabies can’t grab them.

That is all.

My work is done. Nothing to see here. Move along Mom. I already took care of it.

He even got the dogs all decked out in holiday jingle bells. Missy didn’t mind. Levi was terrified of the sounds coming from his neck and refused to move until we took the collar off.

Christmas has been hard for me since I lost my mom back in 1994. Some years I’m in the Christmas spirit but others I’m just not. The Man calls me Scrooge but I’m not Scrooge all the time, I just save up my Christmas-ing for the week of Christmas! That week, we do baking days and gift wrapping and try to make sure we’ve got it all together for the crowd that gathers on Christmas Eve for dinner.

Mr. Christmas revels in every single bit of it. He loves it all. He believed in Santa until he was 14, so I can give him this teeny little obsession. At least it’s only once a year!