Sven wins again!

I got Sven:

1. A remote controlled helicopter.

2. A tiny device called an "Eviltron" which randomly emits scary sounds and is now stuck to our refrigerator.

3. A pair of Stewie Griffin pajama pants.

4. A life-size Taun Taun sleeping bag with light saber zipper pull and intestine-printed lining.

Sven got me:

1. A firm chair-pillow so I can be more comfortable while blogging in bed.

2. A silver and mother-of-pearl heart-shaped locket with pictures of Dexy and Princess inside, which he printed, cut, and installed himself.

Sven wins again.  My gifts to him were hilarious, his to me were thoughtful and touching.

But I guess I win, too.  I hope you all had a merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas Eve!

 

Merry Christmas Eve!

War on Christmas

I love Christmas.  It's the most wonderful time of the year, I'm told.  However, there has been something bothering me about Christmas for most of my life, something that niggled and nagged at the back of my mind.  I assumed it was the oft-lamented "commercialization" of the holiday.  Recently, after a good deal of introspection and foot maintenance, it came to me: I actually like the commercialization of Christmas.  What I hate is the EMOTIONALIZATION of Christmas.

Holly boughs and wreaths of pine cones in October?  Sure!  I love it.  Piped in Muzak versions of "Sleigh Ride" right after the back-to-school sales have ended?  Great.

Song about the poor child who wants to buy a pair of shoes for his dying mother so she can be beautiful when she dies on Christmas Eve?  Not so much.  I LOATHE this stuff.  I mean, I really do.

Some of what could be called "emotional" Christmas fare is stuff I love.  There is a book by Fannie Flag called "A Redbird Christmas" that I really love and read every year.  I own five different movie adaptations of A Christmas Carol: The Muppet Christmas Carol, Mickey's Christmas Carol, Scrooge (the musical w/Albert Finney), A Christmas Carol (Patrick Stewart version), and Scrooged (Bill Murray).  I watch It's A Wonderful Life with great enjoyment as often as I can during the holidays; in fact, I have been known to cook a full turkey dinner and watch Christmas movies in July, just because I wanna.

That's fine.  Here's what I don't like:

I don't like Lifetime movies about how the magic of Christmas makes an emotionally distant and abusive parent or romantic partner suddenly perfect.

I don't like ABC Family movies about how the magic of Christmas helps some sad (but staggeringly beautiful) single woman finally find true love under the mistletoe.

I don't like Folger's commercials in which the magic of Christmas combines with the aroma of coffee to ensure complete peace among extended family.

I don't like "Very Special" episodes of cheesy sitcoms, in which a character sings "O Holy Night" and the husband and wife realize they shouldn't fight because It's Christmas.

But enough of what I don't like.

I love seeing my family.

I love dressing my kids up in festive holiday wear.

I love spending too much money trying to find something to make Sven say, "Wow!"

I love baking pumpkin bread and orange cranberry bread and cookie cakes.

I love lighting the Hanukkah candles at my cousins' house.

I love hearing Princess singing "Belize Knobby Nut"* along with Jose Feliciano.

I love the lights on all of the houses, including our own.

I love watching "A Christmas Story" 4 times in a row while my turkey cooks.

I love rolling my eyes when Princess asks if she can watch Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer "one more time and that's all, okay?"

So I just avoid that maudlin, sentimental stuff.  Christmas comes but once a year for several weeks, and it's just wasteful and unnecessary to waste it dwelling on what I don't like.

Oh, dang, there's that Folgers commercial again....


*Feliz Navidad

Family Newsletter

I wrote this as a joke for an online forum, but I liked it so much, I thought you would enjoy.  I would like to say that I love all of the family newsletters I receive, which in no way resemble this one at all, so please keep them coming!


-Deb


Dear Family and Friends,

First of all, I must ask that anyone receiving this letter not copy it and give it to others.  There are certain people who we do not wish to know our family's business, but because certain people get offended when I talk about the lawsuit, I'll leave it at that.

Despite last January's "unpleasantness," this has been a good year for us.  Alexis Star, our goldfish, was recently accepted into an accelerated obedience course at Pet-o-Rama.  Who knew, when we took her in because she was swimming on her back, that she was so gifted?  They are keeping her for a week, then we will go back to get her.  They promise she will be a whole new fish!  She might even lose some weight, which was good, because she was eating like 10 times a day, like a certain person who I cannot name but should get her due in court next March.

Our six children (Dakota, Carolina, Virginia, Washington, Kentucky, and Delaware) continue to do very well at their academic pursuits.  Dakota made it to level 28 of World of Blood last night!  Kentucky continues to do well in her music therapy class, and recently wowed our church talent show with her original song, "When I Kill Them I'll Be Free."  Children are such a joy, I keep telling Stewart that we should have another before we get too old, but he has taken a second job as a long-haul truck driver.  Between that and being a trans-continental pilot, it seems we never see each other.  It makes you think about how strange life can be: if you want to see someone, they're too busy, but if you never want to see someone again, there she is, everywhere you go, like a certain person I'm not allowed to talk about.  I don't care what she told you, I was in Wal-Mart first.  I know my rights, even if there is a "restraining order."

You'll all be happy to know that my medical issues have gotten much better this year.  Because of some complaints about last year's letter, I'll limit the details, but I'll say this: it finally drained.  What a relief!  Like not seeing a certain person who shall remain nameless but you all know who I'm talking about.  If you want more details, e-mail me, but don't share my e-mail address with anyone, for obvious reasons.

I have been doing our usual holiday decorations this year.  I started putting lights up in September, since the homeowner's association lost their lawsuit over last year's display.  I hope the next one goes as well!  My "Winter Wonderland" yard display has been a big hit again this year.  I don't know why everyone's nativity scenes don't include Shrek, the donkey goes right along with the story!  Fortunately, my last neighbor moved two weeks ago, so there's plenty of parking if any of you want to stop by!  Just don't bring along you-know-who.

Of course, no family newsletter would be complete without a mention of Samuel Gompers, our kitty.  After an attack of anxiety last summer when Kentucky went off her meds for a little while, Gompers has been on Valium, which has helped him enormously.  He stopped using the litter box, but I know it's just his need for self-expression.  After the you-know-what is over, I should be able to spend more time with him.  I'm sure he just misses his mommy!

I can't wait to hear from all of you.  Several of your letters were returned to me last year unopened, so I can only assume you guys have moved and forgot to tell me where.  I'll be tracking you down, though!  Have a happy holiday season!

Me

Holiday Gift Guide

It's that time again, when I have to buckle down and make the most important decision I make twice a year: what to get Sven for Christmas.

He is impossible to shop for.  He doesn't care for gadgets, so I'm out there.  If he does find a gadget he likes, it becomes welded to him for at least a decade (thank you iPod touch!).  He hates it when I (or anyone else, for that matter) buy him clothes.  He has hobbies: he fishes, and then cooks what he catches.  But I can only give him so many bags of wood chips, and I hate to give a gift card.

So, here it is: Deb's Gift Guide for the Dude You Can't Shop For.  Here is a comprehensive (not at all) list (in the sense there is more than one item) of terrific (if we're being very loose with the language) ideas (things I am clinging to as my last hope) for last-minute (less than two weeks left) gifts (whew).

1. A ribald t-shirt.  Nothing says "I love you" like a t-shirt emblazoned with a stormtrooper sitting on a toilet.  Thanks to my recent subscription to the "I Love Movies" podcast, I have a code to get 20% off my order at Donkey T's (put "MOVIES" in the coupon code box).  (Warning: ribaldry contained therein.)

2. Specialty food items.  Nothing says "I love you, Grandpa," like a Hickory Farms Sampler.  For the hubs, though, I have to kick it up a notch.  I need to get him something he either needs to wrestle to a draw or set on fire before eating it.  Two words: ostrich meat.  Imagine the conversations he can have!
  
     Sven: So, have you had ostrich?

     Hezekiah: No, can't say that I have.
  
     Sven: It's all right.
  
     Hezekiah: Yeah?
  
     Sven: Yeah.
  
       Silence.

You're welcome.

3. A ridiculous toy that he will admire in the abstract but never actually use and/or give to the children.  I admit this is the route I usually go.  Last year's present, an interactive voice-activated R2D2 robot, has been in a box in our dining room since last January.  (The year before, I gave him a son, which has been somewhat more successful.)  This year, I am frankly out of ideas for useless toys.

     A GPS?  Maybe, but I just don't think there is room in the drawer with the PDA, pocket-sized digital camera, electronic organizer, and, I believe, a slide-rule.

He already has an iPod.

I now share with you the coolest online shopping site ever: I Want One of Those.  This site has grown up toys for every taste and budget level.  It's a British site, but don't despair: most of these gifts are available in the U.S.  It's great for getting ideas.

I've got a few right now...

Reflections on Being an Artist

It's difficult, this life.  Being the conduit for the vision is a responsibility that, while I do not wish to be hyperbolic, is the most important and life-altering responsibility that anyone who ever lived anywhere will have.

Particularly my vision.  Why do I do it?  Because I must.  I must communicate my vision to the world, no matter the personal cost.  Those who work with me, those who bring the vision to life, are mere vessels in my hands.

The critics won't understand, of course.  They'll say things like, "You've done it again!" and "It was adorable!" and "I liked the rapping reindeer!" but they won't get it: the sweat, the blood, the agony spent during torturous sleepless nights.*

My production of "Is Santa Smarter?" may have very well set the world of the fifth-grade part-time musical theater on fire.

Trendsetter?

Groundbreaker?

Perhaps.  But these words, no matter how true, are ultimately unimportant.

Above all, I am the shaper of the vision.  When I tell that actor, "Honey, you have to speak into the microphone," I am imparting the wisdom of the muses.

"Don't wave at your parents while you're saying your part," I say.  That's direction.  That's vision.

"We need to all step to the right first," I command.  Authority.  Having the vision means not being afraid to say it outright.  I don't sugar-coat; I can't.

Not everyone can do it.  I know this.  I am blessed.  When I arrive at work this morning, my classroom still redolent with the scent of last night's Subway sandwiches, I know that stinky, pickley air will be truly rarified.  I will receive the adulations due me.

I'm expecting a mention on the morning announcements.

*Well, I might have slept, but not well.  Okay, well, but not long enough.  Okay, long enough.  But I occasionally dreamed about the production, which in my version starred Rob Pattinson as Santa Claus and Taylor Lautner as himself.

Guilt

Guilt is, above all else, a great motivator.  If you figure out how to make someone else feel guilty, you have almost limitless power.  Mothers have known this for years, through the following techniques:

1. The trembling sigh.  As in, "Dear, you know I understand you can't come home for Christmas this year, of course what you do is important.  Don't give it another thought.  (Trembling, tear filled sigh.)"

2. The "but, you know:"  As in, "Sweetie, it's fine.  Go and do what you need to do."  Beat.  "But, you know, this may be your grandfather's last Arbor Day, and your Cousin Fitz goes to trial next week.  That's all I'm going to say."

3. The nothing-at-all.  As in, they don't say anything or do anything, but you just know they're cooking up something, so you give in because you are afraid of what that card may be.

4. The labor time/diaper change accusation.  As in, "I spent 78 hours in labor giving birth to you and you can't even take three days off of work to see your second cousin graduate from veterinary school?"

Fortunately, my own mother uses guilt only when absolutely necessary and openly acknowledges it, so it's above board.  My own Momz is a master of the trembling sigh.

Momz: It's okay.  I understand.  (Trembling sigh.)

Deb: Did you just play the Trembling Sigh?

Momz: Did it work?

Deb: Darn.  I'll see you at 6.  I'll bring the potato salad.

Momz: Bring Sven's, it's better.

Deb: Oh.  I understand.  (Trembling sigh.)

Momz: Well played.

So this kind of cordiality shows that guilt can, if applied appropriately, be a useful and hilarious tool for family negotiations.

However, some people use guilt in truly toxic, harmful ways, as well as guilt's obnoxious bullying older brother, shame.  Guilt and shame are two things our society seems to be trying to eradicate entirely, at least in an emotional sense.  What people seem to forget is that guilt and shame, when appropriate, are good things.

You SHOULD feel guilty if you do something awful.

You SHOULD feel shame in some circumstances.

And some people just need a healthy dose of both on a daily basis.

But, what do I know?  I'm just a blogger, trying to get by.  Go on.  Have your fun.  Don't worry about me.  I'll be fine.

(Trembling sigh.)

Perspective

I recently posted that I now have to wear glasses all the time.  I find this mortifying.  My eyes, if I may be so bold as to mention it, are really my best feature.  (I assure you, the competition for that title is stiff.  My nose hasn't spoken to my upper lip in three years, and my ears still boycott holiday meals.)  But, my eyes win the contest, so I do my best to "play them up" through subtle use of makeup and expression:

It would be difficult to draw attention to my daintily pointed ears in such a fashion.

Now, with glasses, I feel like a librarian: dowdy, frumpy, and old:

It turns out, Sven thinks I look like a librarian, too.  Only Sven has a slightly different interpretation of the word:

Who knew?  In any case, I feel a little better about the glasses.  Once this pinkeye clears up (I know, how could I be more sexy, right?) I'll put on some makeup and take a picture of my new glasses.  My hopes, frankly, aren't high, but who cares?

The way I look in Sven's eyes is better than any mirror.