This post should probably come on December 27th, but it’s what I’m thinking of now since the empty Christmas bins are headed back up to the attic for the rest of the month. We have 3 plastic tubs for all holiday paraphernalia – lights, balls, decorations, etc. (no artificial tree to store). Throughout the season our collection sometimes grows, or I become a less efficient packer. Either way, when all of the decorations are taken down after Christmas and carefully placed in the guest room by Brian, it never seems like they will all fit back in those 3 tubs. And I’m tempted to run to Target and buy another (because who doesn’t need another reason to go to Target?!). But then I make myself stick to the 3-tub limit and begin to whittle. Even though it’s hard to throw out Christmas items (which are by their nature meant to add warmth and incite nostalgia), I get rid of anything that I haven’t put out for a couple of years, things I don’t like anymore, or things that have grown shabby with time. Don’t get me wrong – there are a handful of special items that are beyond question: my circa-1970s stocking with “Lori” written in glitter, the very old-fashioned Santa that used to be musical 30 years ago, but now just smiles benevolently from our mantle, our first real angel for the top of the tree…But other things are fair game. Because even though they might be cute/useful/festive/red, the more Christmas stuff we accumulate, the longer it takes to pull out and decorate and then put away a month later. I love the fullness of the house during the holidays and used to want more, more, more of that feeling, but as I get older I’ve come to prefer less doing, less stuff and more peace, more time with my sweet family, and more reflection on what truly matters.