It all started with one blowmold.
Originally, it was a ‘gift’ to my mother when we still lived in our old townhouse and we didn’t have the space to put fifteen million Christmas decorations. My dad found the ugly plastic clown, most likely at a yard sale or on the side of the road, and brought it home. I remember it being lit up in our living room and absolutely hating it. I wasn’t prepared for a holiday tradition to be born from this singular blowmold.
Once we moved into our new and bigger house, my mom began buying more of these creepy looking Christmas decorations. She loved the first one and found more from the same era and style to add to the ever growing collection that resided in our basement during the warm months. At first, the blowmolds took up our front porch area, Mom maximizing the space and using all the nooks and crannies to her advantage as we stood outside for probably two hours decorating the alcove with five of these plastic things, garland, and other assorted Christmas trinkets. I didn’t think it would get much more grand than this.
Fast forward two years later, and the entire front yard was a winter wonderland. We had upwards of thirty of these blowmolds along with a blowup Homer Simpson, a Santa sleigh with reindeer, candy canes and candles along the fence-line, string lights everywhere and our decked out Christmas tree in the massive front window, bordered by smaller blowmolds, garland, and snowflakes. I would be lying if I said putting these up wasn’t stressful and time-consuming; it was not an enjoyable experience overall.
Christmas was never a completely fun time of year. Granted, I looked forward to the week off from school, the presents and the snow we would get – if any – but the holiday was often shrouded with anxiety. My parents fought a good amount during this time of the year, and it made the holiday lose its luster. Dad would never help us with any of the decorating so it would make my mom a fiery ball of rage, and I was always in the middle of these conflicts. This tradition stayed strong until about my senior year of high school when Mom stopped wanting to do it due to the above reason. I didn’t mind it. Frankly, as a lazy and perpetually tired high school student, I was happy with all the downtime I could receive. It really tapered off once I entered college since I wasn’t around to help my mom set up the decorations.
Don’t tell this to my mom – but I miss decorating.