Sunday, November 27th, 2011
It’s my favorite time of year! I try to “respect the turkey”, but the second Thanksgiving is over, I break out the Christmas music and decorations and shopping and baking and gingerbread-house-making. I love it all. Having a child makes it that much more exciting, because let’s face it, I’m getting a little bit old to be having trouble sleeping every Christmas Eve (not that I do, okay? I don’t. Much.)
In the spirit of getting into the holiday season, I want to share some of my favorite (which generally translates to “craziest”) holiday memories. If I get nothing but coal in my stocking, it’ll be worth it. Probably. Here goes:
1993, a.k.a. The Year Of Little Dolly Pukehead.
When I was in third grade, I wanted this doll so badly. She was one of those dolls that had actual bodily functions, I think. Something like that. The only thing I really remember about her is that she had this bleach-blonde ponytail sprouting out of the top of her head, and if you cranked her arm, the ponytail got shorter, and if you held her arm straight up, it would grow. The overall effect of it, as my dad so kindly pointed out, was that of her head vomiting hair out of the top of it. “Little Dolly Pukehead,” he affectionately called her. Way to ruin an eight-year-old’s favorite gift, dad. To be fair, he was kind of right. It was pretty much the weirdest doll ever. (I’d like to know if you can still buy them, but I’m afraid to google “Little Dolly Pukehead” even with my SafeSearch on, and I’m not sure what else I would search for.)
1996, a.k.a. The Year My Mom Destroyed My Self-Esteem.
You remember those little “shops” they used to have in the hallway during grade school so that you could buy gifts for your family with your allowance? Or maybe you have kids old enough to do that now? One year, maybe when I was in second grade, I had bought this hideous little Christmas ornament for my mom. It was this ugly little painted clown hanging inside a glass bell. I thought it was fantastic. I gave it to her for Christmas that year and she went on and on about how great it was and hung it on the tree every year after that. Some years later, we were decorating the tree and I dropped the ornament and the glass bell smashed on the floor. Before I could say anything, my mom, having completely forgotten where it came from, quickly said, “Oh, don’t worry sweetie, that thing was ugly anyway, I’m glad to get rid of it.” I turned toward her with a horrified look and cried, “I gave that to you!!” The look on her face was priceless.
2000, a.k.a. The Year My Parents Washed The Tree In The Dishwasher.
When I was in high school, I went out Christmas shopping with a new friend who I thought was so cool. She was pretty and popular and I had no idea why she wanted to be my friend, but I was totally psyched that she did. I invited her to come back to my parents’ house for dinner and she accepted. We walked into the kitchen to find… my extremely uncool parents, unloading the branches of our artificial Christmas tree from the dishwasher like this was a completely normal thing to be doing on a Saturday afternoon, or, well, any day, ever. My new friend stood there, confused, as I closed my eyes in horror. “What are you doing?!” I shrieked at a pitch that probably only dogs could hear. “It smelled musty,” my dad explained cheerfully, as my mom briskly shook out some of the larger branches over the sink. “I think we’ve fixed the problem now, though!” And then I died of teenage mortification, the end.
2004, a.k.a. The Year Of Chocolate-Covered-Cherry Food Poisoning.
I always came home from college for Christmas. One year, I went to my best friend’s house after Christmas dinner. Her boyfriend was there, and he had brought a cute friend with him. We played board games and ate a bazillion chocolate-covered cherries and I flirted with the cute boyfriend’s friend. It was a fun night and a nice change of pace from all the usual family stuff… until I started to feel a little sick. We all made plans to go bowling the next day and then I hurried home, feeling more nauseous by the minute. Turned out I had food poisoning, because I threw up fourteen times that night. (Just call me Little Dolly Pukehead.) To this day, I won’t even look at a chocolate-covered cherry.
There are others, of course… 1992, a.k.a. The Year of the Choreographed Christmas Chipmunks Dance Routine; 2003, a.k.a. The Year My Dad Made My Boyfriend Put the Lights On the Tree; and 2008, a.k.a. The Year My Parents Had 14 Cats and They All Had Their Own Christmas Stockings. Et cetera.
Now, I know some of you people with bigger families must have even more hilarious memories than these… so do share in the comments, please!Add a Comment