Just a little story for you.
I love Christmas. Always have. I remember viewing this house for the first time in June 2015, with baby DS. The stairs are the kind that go round the wall with a gap in the middle that goes from the ground floor to the first floor ceiling and thinking, “Wow, you could get a 12’ Christmas tree in there!
We moved in October. My family came for Christmas, and slept in our spare room. I cooked and we all ate Christmas dinner round the dining room table. I didn’t have my tree, we decided it was too extravagant, but we put fairy lights over the fireplace and sat round the log burner.
Three years on and my family can’t stay, the spare room is inaccessible. I am too ashamed to let them through the front door. The dining table is hidden under a pile of recycling, and old coats and shoes we can’t throw out clutter up the hall. We can’t use the log burner, too much paper in the room. DP gets really stressed; getting the Christmas decorations down involves interfering with The Hoard.
So, that’s my goal for next Christmas. By the end of the year the hall will be clear and safe. I will be able to put decorations up myself and pack them away myself. We will put our stockings up by the fireplace. We may not have the spare room cleared, but people will be able to visit. And I will have my tree. Maybe not a 12’ real pine. More likely a 12 cm plastic Sainsbury’s tree but I don’t care.
DP might be here. He might not. But the kids and I will, and we will
be happy and safe. And I will have my tree.