Kitchen sink Christmas trees

As much as I hate anything associated with washing dishes, I think the best way to describe my Christmas tree is “kitchen sink chic.”

Decorating the tree is my favorite part of adorning the house for Christmas — isn’t it everyone’s? Growing up, we would make ornaments with cross-stitched cardinals, cinnamon shapes made with cookie cutters or craft something with dog treats or beads.

Eventually, Momma bought another tree and segregation happened. All the “kid ornaments” that we made at home or brought back from school were separated from the “nice ornaments” that all matched and didn’t have scratched paint or large chunks missing. It was a little hurtful that our decades of hard work were banished to a secondary location while Mom’s new tree had shiny ribbons and color-coordinated themes.

And then it happened.

She gifted me the ornaments I had so lovingly made for her myself — even those I was too young to make and had assistance from my preschool teacher.

The thumbprint mouse in his little hand-painted wreath from ’95, the construction paper star-shaped Santa with cotton beard from ’96, the beaded candy canes and the Rudolph made from pipe cleaners and a Milkbone dog biscuit were all delicately placed into my ornament box to be cherished like the treasures we all know they are.

Except Santa. He got eaten by a foster puppy last year and is now being cherished in the trash somewhere.

The old ornaments are a perfect blend with my new ones, and I will carry on my kitchen sink tree décor until the tree falls over. I have a habit of buying ornaments out of season because I love the sentimentality that comes along with them upon display.

There’s the old-timey camera ornament I bought on a trip to Biltmore with Christina Cleveland back when we both worked at The Journal (the first time). We went in spring, but I’ve always wanted to go see the Vanderbilt-era Christmas décor — this felt like a happy medium. Every time I see that shiny little camera, I’m taken back to our little road trip and the awe that struck me from the moment I stepped in front of the Biltmore House.

Another favorite is a tiny cast-iron skillet with sausage and fried eggs that came from Gatlinburg. Not only is it a combination of my favorite things — camping, Christmas and breakfast — I purchased it the week my brother called to tell me he was getting married. I vividly remember mining for gems when I felt my back pocket buzzing with his call.

My hands were wet and a little sandy, so my then-boyfriend pulled it out of my pocket and held it up to my ear. It was for the best, because I may have dropped the phone if I’d been responsible for holding it.

I hope it’s not weird I associate that ornament with my brother getting married more so than my ex’s family, with whom I was vacationing at the time.

I also have two giant white glass ornaments — rare for someone who has a curious cat — with the student publications logo from my college years. My last semester of college, I was the managing editor of The Herald. That semester brought me one of my best friends and fellow newspaper nerd, then-editor Tessa. I didn’t much like her prior to being handpicked as her managing editor, but nearly five years later we still text every day.

Then there’s the beautiful light blue and green beaded garland that reminds me of springtime and icicles that I purchased on Small Business Saturday on Ram Cat Alley my first Thanksgiving in Seneca — my first holiday away from home. There’s also the tiny stocking garland I bought at a family Christmas dinner in 2015. Technically I was only buying it for my sister, but I couldn’t resist the little curly-toed felt cuteness and wound up with two strands of my own.

So you can keep your green and red aesthetics and glittery sticks of gold beside perfectly placed ornaments, because my weird little mismatched ornaments all have a perfect place in my heart. Even trash Santa — may he rest in pieces.

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