Attica! Attica!

Attic – huh? Now wait just one minute. You want me to go where?

I haven’t been up to the attic since my divorce three years ago. Normally it’s not an issue, I am perfectly happy to let boxes of lord-only-knows-what stay locked away up there. But the one thing I know that is being held hostage? Christmas decorations. Each year Christmas rolls around and each year I am armed with a litany of excuses for why we can’t decorate a tree. Holiday travel…we’ll do it when we get to your grandparents’…let’s not confuse Santa. But this year Little Chick caught me off guard when she asked sweetly, “Mommy, this year can we please please please decorate a Christmas tree for our house?” So I knew what had to be done. I was headed to the attic.

Forget the nostalgia of seeing boxes from the house where we were first married, wedding albums, or Little Chick’s baby crib, I was in true physical danger. I almost killed myself up there yesterday! There’s no flooring, and no electricity so I was dangling on the foldable stairs trying to hoist heavy, poorly labeled boxes over the edge. I needed someone to catch them. I broke a few Spode mugs and some ornaments because I chucked boxes from the very top instead of negotiating them carefully down the stairs. No, it wasn’t pretty, but in the end I prevailed. I kicked that attic’s ass.

But conquering the attic was only part of the challenge. The truth is that sprucing up a spruce is desperately depressing when you’re freshly divorced. I pictured my daughter and me hanging out alone, quietly stringing up lights. But this year Christmas finally feels light. I’m ready for some new traditions. For example, my ex would never agree to a white artificial tree. A little campy I know, but I think they’re fun. Each year he had the same response: When Pigs Fly. So as a consequence of freedom, part of my amnesty package so to speak, I treated myself to a white Christmas tree. And it’s dreamy.

We had a ball decking the hall. I rearranged the furniture to place the tree in a whole new spot, everything fresh. At first it looked a little lean since all our presents are all shipped to grandparents’ house. So I gift-wrapped the empty ornament boxes and stuck them under the tree as props. (Lord knows I wasn’t taking them back to the attic.) We celebrated with holiday cupcakes and hot chocolate and exchanged a few early treats. Confused by all the activity, our sweet dog Gus was stealing ornaments so we would chase him through the house. He barked wildly, holiday tunes blared, and Little Chick and I were rockin’ around the Christmas tree. It was a laugh-riot.

So in the holiday spirit of sharing and caring, I’d like to share a little caring advice. If you have a friend who’s freshly separated or divorced, be their holiday SWAT team. Show up with the wine and Christmas music. Haul boxes from the attic, unwind lights. Add some laughter and remind them that things do get better. The day will come when their freedom will be a blessing, not a death sentence. Christmas will once again feel magical. And pigs really can fly.

I know it’s true because these little piggie angels are all over
my very first white tree.