Christmas confession: I suffer from Perfect Ornament Placement Disorder

Are you waiting until your children fall asleep then re-arranging their Christmas decorations? You might be suffering from POPD, Frances Whiting writes.

Do you suffer from this seasonal affliction?

A very cheeky - and astute - reader recently sent me a lovely picture of a Christmas Tree, along with a caption, which posed this question. ‘Do you suffer from P.O.P.D?’

I didn’t know if I did… until I read that these initials stood for Perfect Ornament Placement Disorder, and realised I do indeed suffer from this seasonal affliction.

I don’t know however if the words “suffer” or “disorder” are correct here, I prefer to see my talent for perfect ornament placement as a gift. A gift, sadly that no-one else in my family appears to have inherited, given the frankly haphazard way they just throw any old bauble on the tree and the higgledy piggledy way they drape the tinsel.

Please, they don’t so much as drape it, as just bung it on anywhere they feel like it. Please, it looks like one of those ancient forest trees with that Spanish Moss hanging from it.

Nor do they follow any of my suggested bauble-to-bell ratios, or adhere to my strict colour schemes of red, green, silver, blue, pink, gold.

Again, they just whack up whatever colour bauble they fancy, which not only throws the whole thing out, but also means I have to re-do the whole tree later. When they’re asleep. So they can’t see I’ve redone it, or that I’ve moved their home made Christmas pipe cleaner angels to the back. Along with those little little cut-out decorations they made in kindergarten with their photo glued inside, and the clay stars with the bits of glitter glued on.

Baubles can not just be thrown on a tree ‘higgledy piggledy’.

That’s right, all that home-made Christmas stuff is going to the back. Yes, including the paper plate Santa Claus. I know, I’m not proud.

I also know that after I have done my late night re-arranging of the tree so it looks like something Martha Stewart would be proud of, and not something the cat dragged in from the dumpster after it had been in a fire, my children will say “Mum, have you moved my snowman made of dried pasta?”

I also know I will answer “What? No, of course not darling, look here it is, right at the back, on the very bottom branch, behind your sister’s little clay star with her name on it - spelt incorrectly”.

I can’t help it, it turns out I have a chronic case of P.O.P.D, but in my defence there is no other area in my home life where I demand perfection. Which you would clearly see if you ever came over to our house. Particularly if you were to take a peek in our pantry.

But come Christmas, I do want our tree to be perfect. Also our lawn ornaments, garland and door wreath.

I’m not sure why, except that nothing gives me as much pleasure as looking at a beautifully decorated Christmas tree with a perfect bauble to bell ratio, colour matched ornaments and lighting, and red bow placement. Unless, of course, Colin Firth was under it.

Fran Loves: (A bit of a longer Fran Loves this week, if you will indulge me) Our daughter Tallulah, who is 16 tomorrow. The last time I wrote about her was in this column shortly after she was born. I wrote then about what a miracle she was - and she really was, for all sorts of reasons, and she has brought us so much joy in all the seasons since. Happy Birthday our darling girl, you are kind, funny, smart and sweet. Please stop stealing all my make-up.