Old-World charm is silhouetted against the dark sky. In the kitchen, sprigs of green dress up the light.

As a child who grew up in sunny Los Angeles, my idea of a picture-perfect Christmas had little to do with reality.

In my mind, perfect was dashing through the snow, not the desert. Perfect was homemade cookies, not packaged shortbread squares. Without a doubt, perfect was a green Christmas tree with white twinkle lights.

I had yet to learn how expectations can trip one up.

I learned fast, however, that fateful holiday my mother's intended decided to drape a large cone-shaped, chicken-wire form over our floor-to-ceiling pole lamp. Enthusiastically, he described the structure as a "modern 1950s alternative" to the old-fashioned tree.

As if this wasn't bad enough, the man who would later became my beloved stepfather proceeded to stuff each chicken-wire hole with a carefully fluffed wad of lavender Kleenex. The whole resembled an elongated, purple pom-pom. To top it off, "that thing," as my younger brother and I described it through bitter tears, sat smack in the middle of the living room, garishly illuminated by a rotating light wheel.

Mark, left, and Philip Spelman place ornaments on the tree in the home's spacious entry, the family's traditional site for tree-trimming. Lucky the dog takes a seat in the middle of the action.

Parents, take it from me, this is not what you want to do to your children at Christmas.

Here's my advice: Take a cue from Tim and Laurel Spelman and your kids will never fear to come home for the holidays.

At the Spelman's Capitol Hill house, the tree is green, the ornaments familiar, the cookies butter, the mistletoe real. The whole is traditional but unstuffy, festive but not pretentious. A house that relies less on period architecture and more on familial fraternity for its holiday character - although all that circa-1912 Craftsman charm certainly doesn't hurt. A house for grown-ups, kids, guests and a rambunctious dog to enjoy and share with others less (decoratively speaking) fortunate.

"People can get so tradition-bound they become enslaved to the process," says Laurel Spelman, mother to 12-year-old Mark and 14-year-old Philip. "We try to strike a balance in terms of keeping things similar year to year without creating expectations that are difficult to achieve."

True to their intent, each year the Spelmans purchase the family tree at the Stevens School Christmas sale, an annual weekend fund-raiser that brings together scores of Capitol Hill families. Then there's the neighborhood caroling party and bonfire. Indoors, unpacking the ornaments is always an event, as is cookie-making and setting a "fancy" table with inherited-from-family silver, china and linen. On Christmas Eve, the traditional stuffed-cabbage dinner is served, followed by a short walk to the family's nearby church for service.

Soft red walls, low-voltage lighting and comfortable seating around the fire make for a perfectly simple holiday setting.

"At the holidays, we like to step out of the really casual way we usually live," says Laurel. "It's our way of signifying that Christmas is a special time." As for Tim, he sees his holiday responsibilities as clearly defined: "My duty is to put up the Christmas tree and string lights on across the front porch."

Blending a bit of whimsy with practicality is more than a holiday tradition at the Spelman house. It's a year-round philosophy. When Laurel, a real-estate developer, and Tim, an architect and principal at Hewitt Architects, bought the house in 1991, they willingly took on an extensive rehabilitation process. By installing bookcases and additional millwork in the entry-living-room area, they created a more gracious setting as well as extra storage space. By placing low-voltage lighting throughout the house, they updated the overall aesthetic. Having gutted and rebuilt the kitchen and added two bathrooms, peace reigned and efficiency soared.

For the exterior, the couple relied on historic photos taken by the Works Progress Administration to help them restore the home to its original architectural intent.

Through it all, the couple never lost sight of the fact that children would be an active presence in the house. When the couple volunteered to host the annual Hewitt Architects' holiday party, they insisted kids be part of the dinner event. Twenty children - most under the age of 10 - made gingerbread houses in the kitchen, crunched on cookies wherever they pleased, and generally made merry up and down the staircase.

Laurel took it all in stride. "I love seeing Christmas though children's eyes. Given that the holiday is about celebrating the birth of a child, it seems appropriate that it be a child-oriented experience," she says.

One of Tim's special holiday-at-home memories is of coming down the stairs to find his son, Mark, in a darkened room staring contentedly at the flickering tree lights. "I remember doing the same thing as a child. I remember what a magical experience it was," he says.

For both a large part of the holiday experience is simply hanging out with their children and friends, a holiday activity they whole-heartedly support. "When all the work is done and we can just be in the house together as a family, that's the best time . . . that's what the holiday is all about," says Tim.

Simply put, as un-perfectly good as perfect gets.

Seattle-based writer Victoria Medgyesi is a regular contributor to Pacific Northwest Magazine.