Christmas-fying My Man

Someday, in the not so distant future, when the zombie apocalypse finally hits, here's what will happen in our house.  I will freak the eff out, but possibly take out a few zombies as I screech madly to my death.  After all, I've been reading up on this.  Eric, on the other hand, will barley raise an eyebrow as he glances up from his crossword puzzle in time to watch me roundhouse kick our former neighbors in the face.

"Meh, guess I'll be a zombie now," he'll shrug as the undead start gnawing on his head.

Such is our relationship.  I am over emotional and prone to worrying.  Eric is under emotional and sees no need to get upset unless the roof starts falling on our heads.

As always, our opposite temperaments seep into every aspect of our life...including the holiest of days...the birth of the Baby Jesus.

I get pumped for Christmas.  I become giddy at the thought of decorating cookies.  I get a tingle up my leg when I see the aisles of Christmas crap decor at Target.  I make decorating the Christmas tree a holy ritual.  I even watched The Mistletones on ABC Family last night.  What?!  (In other news, seriously...what happened to Donna Martin's face?  Is it cause they wouldn't let her graduate?)

Eric, on the other hand, pretty much says, "Bah Humbug!" to the whole Christmas season.  He hates carols.  He views Black Friday goers with contempt, and he'd rather avoid the hassle of decorating the house.  In fact, I think if I weren't around, he'd probably just pull a paper bag over his head and wait for it all to be over.  Except, of course, for Tuba Christmas.  Man won't let anything get in the way of him and his Tuba.  

Luckily for Eric, however, I AM around to fill his life with the kind of merriment and joy he only thinks he wants to avoid.  I know deep down inside, there's a Clark Griswold just longing to break free.

For example, every year he tries to convince me to buy a fake tree instead of searching for the perfect real evergreen.  Every year, I cry, "FROM MY COLD, DEAD HANDS!" and mean it.

Take away the joy of searching in the cold for a real tree?  Take away the joy of lugging it in the house like a lumberjack man?  Take away the joy of finding pine needles still wedged in our sofa in April?  Seriously, Eric, consider how much fuller I make your life.

This year, I further enriched Eric's holiday experiences by adding the pleasure of hanging up lights on our house.

He resisted the idea for a long time.  Last year, he simply couldn't be convinced.   Yet, I am nothing if not tenacious.  The final tipping point came last week when a lady from down the street unknowingly came to my rescue.  After commenting on how nice her house looked for the holidays, she suggested that we put up lights too.  "Aw, it's so fun with kids," she said.

Bam.  Got 'em.  This weekend...up the lights went.  Madeline helped.

 Like most of my harebrained schemes, Eric ended up doing most of the work.  Maybe that's why he never seems as enthusiastic as I am.  Hmmmm.  I offered to climb the ladder and do it myself.  Seriously, I would have.  Yet, Eric did not trust me with a ladder and/or staple gun.  Wise.

In the end, just as I suspected, our house looks pretty cute.  It instantly puts me in a good mood when I pull in our driveway to see our twinkling lights.  Next year, perhaps, we'll add even more lights.

 Eric seems on board now that he's accepted his fate.  Which is why I love him.