Yes, indeed, that silly Decembear is looking under his bed for Christmas. It's a very kindergarten thing to do (something that I am an expert on). Any kindergartner will tell you, if asked about hide-and-seek, that under the bed is a hiding place par excellence.
But anyone who has ever been to our house in December would tell you that it takes more than the few cubic feet under a bed to hide our version of Christmas. We actually have seven very nice plastic bins that hold the majority of our seasonal decorations on the garage shelves. Added to them are the large wreath box that previously held the replacement top of a thirty-six inch kitchen range and the attic contents that are odd sizes and shapes with don't fit in a box. It takes a full day just to pull the non-tree items out and arrange them around the house.
Indeed, I am very lucky that my sweetie patiently endures my yearly decorating frenzy. (He knows that he really doesn't have a choice in the matter. It's like geese migrating or boys splashing in mud puddles--it's just gonna happen no matter what.) I'm not sure why I feel the entire house needs to be decked in green and red each December. I didn't inherit my tendency towards overkill. It's not neighborhood peer pressure.
I have no explanation. Except...maybe...I just love Christmas?
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