Ah, Christmas. It's the magical time of year when everyone's brain turns to mush. I like to call this phenomenon the "Christmas Brain."
Do you remember that old movie with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan? No, no. Not "You've Got Mail." The other one. Yeah...wait, no. Not "Sleepless in Seattle." I mean the OTHER one. "Joe VS. the Volcano." Yeah. That one. You don't remember it? Okay, well never mind then. I mean, the movie is awesome, although completely impossible to understand. But Tom Hanks' character (Joe) is diagnosed with an imaginary "disease" known as a "Brain Cloud." I am of the opinion that a "Brain Cloud," if it were in fact a real disease, would be a lot like the "Christmas Brain." Only Christmas Brain only takes place during the holidays, and the Christmas Brain isn't usually fatal...and also, no one has to jump into a volcano, although sometimes the Christmas Brain makes you want to do crazy, crazy things.
Christmas Brain is the reason why every single December, I trick myself into believing that I can successfully make 1000 cake truffles/chocolate covered pretzels/pieces of biscotti, etc. etc. in a single evening. After realizing that I can't make all that stuff and still keep my sanity, I choose to forfeit my sanity. This loss of sanity leads to an even greater case of Christmas Brain, which leads to all sorts of what I like to call Christmas Fails.
For instance, the preschool where I work is a Christian preschool. We're not allowed to discuss Santa Claus or any of the secular aspects of Christmas, and I completely agree with and support this rule. There's nothing wrong with flying reindeer, but a Christian preschool isn't the place for it. Anyway, the last day of preschool before the Christmas break, one of the other teachers brought in "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer" for the kids to watch. I remember filtering the situation through my brain, as I often do when confronted with a situation that might be against the rules. I thought, "Rudolph. Flying Reindeer. Nothing against the rules there. It's Rudolph! Of course we're allowed to watch that." Now, if my brain were normal, and not a Christmas Brain, I would have come to a different conclusion. I would have thought, "Rudolph. Flying Reindeer. AND Santa Claus. We can't watch this here. Let's watch VeggieTales." Fortunately, the preschool director caught us just in time and made us turn it off--all the while looking at us like we were crazy. I think we all had the Christmas Brain...which led to an epic Christmas Fail.
I've noticed the Christmas Brain/Christmas Fails in a lot of people, but I think Walmart workers have it pretty bad. It's not their fault, bless them. Long hours, cranky customers, busy, busy, busy. It's easy to get upset with retail workers, but I think it's just a lot more fun to just laugh at them and move on. And when I'm laughing at them, I'm really laughing with them, because I've got the Christmas Brain, too.
I had one Walmart employee try to help me out by directing me to a "20 Items or Less Line." I figured she was telling me that one of the lines was open, so I left my spot in a reasonably short line and went to the checkout she indicated. Only the line she directed me to was significantly longer than the line I left. And by the time I realized the problem with her "help," I'd lost my place in the shorter line. So I stood there, laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. Otherwise, I might have been crying.
Speaking of crying, the Christmas Brain leads to a complete loss of emotional control during the holidays. I found myself in Target the other day, staring at the Christmas decorations on sale, and I started crying because I just love Christmas so much, and Christmas was almost over, and I just love Christmas so much, and I'm not ready for it to be over...and I just love Christmas so much. And I had a serious case of the Christmas Brain.
The great thing about the Christmas Brain is that it continues even after Christmas. I went into Walmart a few days after Christmas, trying to get a soda and some money on my gas card, so I could drive a few hundred miles from KY to NC. I instructed the lady to put $25 on my card, and handed her the soda so I could also pay for that...or so I thought. She scanned my card in order to put the $25 on it...or so I thought. She handed me my soda, my gift card, and a receipt, and I hadn't paid for anything...or so I thought.
It took me a few seconds to realize that she had used my gift card (which already had a few dollars on it) to pay for my soda. I said, "No, I wanted $25 put on my gift card." She looked at me for a few seconds, then smiled and said, "You know what we can do? We can put $25 on your card." Um....
I said, "Yes, that's what I'm asking you to do." She looked at me another few seconds, then said, "I know. I'll just put $25 on your card." I was tempted to grab my card out of her flustered fingers and run to another cash register with an employee who wasn't suffering as strongly from the Christmas Brain, but I decided to give her one more chance. She put the money on my card, handed me my soda, and said, "There. Now you have your $25 on your card, and you also have your soda," as if this were news to me or something. I just nodded, smiled, and made sure she gave me the proper receipts, just in case she still wasn't sure about the transaction that had just taken place.
It's things like the Christmas Brain that make me almost glad that this time only comes once a year. ...but then there's always the Valentine's Day Brain, the Easter Brain, the Halloween Brain, and the "I Just Feel Like Going Crazy for No Apparent Reason" Brain. All of them help make life more interesting.
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Christmas. Show all posts
Friday, December 30, 2011
Sunday, December 11, 2011
An Awkward Twelve Days of Christmas
On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: A partridge in a pear tree.
Hmm. Okay, sweetheart. Thanks for the shrubbery. I do like pears. But...what's with the partridge? Is it supposed to be a pet, because I don't really like birds. They're messy...and I have to feed them. What do partridges eat anyway? I hope they eat pears, because otherwise this one is going to starve to death.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Two turtle doves.
Baby, I told you I don't like birds, but maybe I can make an exception for this new mutant half-breed. TURTLE doves? Are those like some kind of awesome birds that live down in the sewer, make friends with giant rats, love pizza, and practice ninja moves, all the while sporting colorful eye bandannas?
No?
Do they at least have shells? No? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Three French Hens.
Enough with the birds! And do they have to be French? I mean, I like what the French do with fries, but French style green beans are not cool. The French should leave my green beans alone. They should stay up on their castle walls, insult the Brittons, and throw cows at people.
Can I throw your three French hens back at you? Run away!
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Four Calling Birds.
Birds. Again. Really? Really. You're like the least creative true love in the world. I guess that serves me right for dating a guy who works in an aviary. But what am I supposed to do with these FOUR calling birds? I mean, if they're going to be making calls all the time, I'm going to have to get some kind of family plan with my mobile carrier just to accommodate them. Sure, I can feed the partridge the pears, but I doubt my calling birds are going to settle for anything less than an unlimited calling/texting/data plan. Then again, how do they text with their little birdie feet? Maybe I can just convince them to use the banana phone.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Five Gold Rings.
Ah! Now we're getting somewhere. I mean, at least you're not giving me birds anymore. To be honest, though, my love, I was kind of hoping that at least one of those five gold rings had a diamond attached to it, but apparently my true love is a commitment-phobe. And you like birds. A lot. Yep, you're a keeper. Well, I don't really wear a lot of rings, so I guess I'll be calling those cash-for-gold people so I can get some money towards bird seed.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Six Geese A-Laying.
Dude. We were making great progress here, and then you go back to birds. What in the world am I supposed to do with six geese? And these six geese are a-laying. A-freakin-laying. That means little baby geese, because I'm not really sure I want to eat a goose egg. Maybe I'll throw it at you along with the French hens.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Seven Swans A-Swimming.
Darling. Dear heart. Love of my life. Does it look like I have a swimming pool at my apartment, or were you expecting me to keep seven a-swimming swans in my bathtub? Do you know how much of a mess seven swans a-swimming would make in my bathtub? Do you think my neighbors want to hear the sounds of seven swans a-swimming in my bathtub? Stop buying me birds.
On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Eight Maids A-Milking:
Okay, so granted, I am a bit of a slob, but it's kind of a slap in the face to say that I need EIGHT maids. And what exactly are they supposed to be milking? All you've given me up to now is a bunch of scrap gold, a pear tree, and a plethora of useless birds. I mean, unless these turtle doves are some kind of wonderful mutant birds that have developed mammary glands, I'm pretty sure you can't milk a bird. If you're going to buy me milking maids, you should probably at least be considerate enough to buy me a cow or a goat or something that can actually be milked. But you know what, I really don't want a goat in my bathtub either.
On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Nine Ladies Dancing.
You know, you can keep them, because I'm pretty sure that you're going to need a new true love (or nine of them) in the near future...
On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Ten Lords A-Leaping.
Leaping Lords! Just what I always wanted! Why are they leaping? Nobody knows! But maybe one of them is smart enough to realize that plants, birds, slave girls, and commitment-lacking cheap jewelry are not good gifts to give your true love...
On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Eleven Pipers Piping.
I'm confused. Are they here to play annoyingly high music, smoke 'baccy, or are they here to fix the plumbing? If they're here for the plumbing, I'm not sure why there are so many of them...
...but then my bathtub did get pretty clogged with all the a-swimming swan feathers.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Twelve Drummers Drumming.
No, thanks! I just roasted up the three French hens, so I have plenty of drumsticks.
This is why I'm single.
Merry Christmas!
Hmm. Okay, sweetheart. Thanks for the shrubbery. I do like pears. But...what's with the partridge? Is it supposed to be a pet, because I don't really like birds. They're messy...and I have to feed them. What do partridges eat anyway? I hope they eat pears, because otherwise this one is going to starve to death.
On the second day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Two turtle doves.
Baby, I told you I don't like birds, but maybe I can make an exception for this new mutant half-breed. TURTLE doves? Are those like some kind of awesome birds that live down in the sewer, make friends with giant rats, love pizza, and practice ninja moves, all the while sporting colorful eye bandannas?
No?
Do they at least have shells? No? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Three French Hens.
Enough with the birds! And do they have to be French? I mean, I like what the French do with fries, but French style green beans are not cool. The French should leave my green beans alone. They should stay up on their castle walls, insult the Brittons, and throw cows at people.
Can I throw your three French hens back at you? Run away!
On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Four Calling Birds.
Birds. Again. Really? Really. You're like the least creative true love in the world. I guess that serves me right for dating a guy who works in an aviary. But what am I supposed to do with these FOUR calling birds? I mean, if they're going to be making calls all the time, I'm going to have to get some kind of family plan with my mobile carrier just to accommodate them. Sure, I can feed the partridge the pears, but I doubt my calling birds are going to settle for anything less than an unlimited calling/texting/data plan. Then again, how do they text with their little birdie feet? Maybe I can just convince them to use the banana phone.
On the fifth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Five Gold Rings.
Ah! Now we're getting somewhere. I mean, at least you're not giving me birds anymore. To be honest, though, my love, I was kind of hoping that at least one of those five gold rings had a diamond attached to it, but apparently my true love is a commitment-phobe. And you like birds. A lot. Yep, you're a keeper. Well, I don't really wear a lot of rings, so I guess I'll be calling those cash-for-gold people so I can get some money towards bird seed.
On the sixth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Six Geese A-Laying.
Dude. We were making great progress here, and then you go back to birds. What in the world am I supposed to do with six geese? And these six geese are a-laying. A-freakin-laying. That means little baby geese, because I'm not really sure I want to eat a goose egg. Maybe I'll throw it at you along with the French hens.
On the seventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Seven Swans A-Swimming.
Darling. Dear heart. Love of my life. Does it look like I have a swimming pool at my apartment, or were you expecting me to keep seven a-swimming swans in my bathtub? Do you know how much of a mess seven swans a-swimming would make in my bathtub? Do you think my neighbors want to hear the sounds of seven swans a-swimming in my bathtub? Stop buying me birds.
On the eighth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Eight Maids A-Milking:
Okay, so granted, I am a bit of a slob, but it's kind of a slap in the face to say that I need EIGHT maids. And what exactly are they supposed to be milking? All you've given me up to now is a bunch of scrap gold, a pear tree, and a plethora of useless birds. I mean, unless these turtle doves are some kind of wonderful mutant birds that have developed mammary glands, I'm pretty sure you can't milk a bird. If you're going to buy me milking maids, you should probably at least be considerate enough to buy me a cow or a goat or something that can actually be milked. But you know what, I really don't want a goat in my bathtub either.
On the ninth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Nine Ladies Dancing.
You know, you can keep them, because I'm pretty sure that you're going to need a new true love (or nine of them) in the near future...
On the tenth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Ten Lords A-Leaping.
Leaping Lords! Just what I always wanted! Why are they leaping? Nobody knows! But maybe one of them is smart enough to realize that plants, birds, slave girls, and commitment-lacking cheap jewelry are not good gifts to give your true love...
On the eleventh day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Eleven Pipers Piping.
I'm confused. Are they here to play annoyingly high music, smoke 'baccy, or are they here to fix the plumbing? If they're here for the plumbing, I'm not sure why there are so many of them...
...but then my bathtub did get pretty clogged with all the a-swimming swan feathers.
On the twelfth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me: Twelve Drummers Drumming.
No, thanks! I just roasted up the three French hens, so I have plenty of drumsticks.
This is why I'm single.
Merry Christmas!
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
SAA Ep. #56: Airing of Christmas Grievances
Wow, so I'm a poopy head (sorry, I work with kids) for not blogging as much as usual. My schedule is insane what with Thanksgiving and Christmas and all of that. To be honest, with everything going on, I really haven't had much time to have awkward moments about which to blog. Instead of having adventures, I've been plopped down on the couch watching seasons of Psych from Netflix, whilst knitting fuzzy scarves. And unless I unknowingly cater to an audience that considers adventures in knitting to be exciting, I really don't think that would be good blogging material.
So yeah. Christmas is coming, and if you know me, I love Christmas. I love just about everything about Christmas. I love Christmas music. I love Christmas lights. I love Christmas movies. I love Christmas food. I love the crazy people that shop at Christmas time. I love it all.
And if you're one of those people who thinks that it's too soon for a Christmas blog, let me tell you that I've beenimpatiently waiting for months. Months, I tell you. If I had my way, people would start putting up lights and listening to Christmas music in September. They wouldn't take down the lights or stop listening to Christmas music until March. And every summer, there would be a solid month of Christmas in July celebrations. What? You say that Christmas in July would interfere with the Fourth of July? Why can't we have a combination Christmas/Fourth of July parade? Why can't we have Christmas in July fireworks? "Yankee Doodle Dandy" isn't nearly as awesome as "Joy to the World." But yeah, I guess the rest of the world doesn't love Christmas as much as I do.
So I wait. I wait until the rest of the world says it's okay to celebrate Christmas. I don't care if you think this Christmas blog is early; it's after Thanksgiving, so it's considered acceptable. I've waited long enough, and nobody's gonna tell me I can't celebrate CHRISTMAS as much as I want to!
But even an amazing season like Christmas has a few problems. I don't like the cold, but you know, I don't mind it at Christmastime. It's the months of winter that follow Christmas that make me want to crawl into a hole and hibernate until spring.
So is there anything that I really just don't like about Christmas? Yes. Yes, there are actually two things I don't like about Christmas, and they're related. One of them isn't so bad if it's done well, but the other one just makes me mad.
The first grievance I have about Christmas are those silly "White Elephant Dirty SantaYankee Swap" games. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm talking about that game where everyone brings a wrapped gift to a party and everyone draws a number. Then the person with the first number chooses a gift and unwraps it. The person with the next number gets to either unwrap another gift or steal the gift from the person whose already opened one. Then the person who had their gift stolen has to open another gift (or steal from another player). And people go around unwrapping gifts and stealing them from one another until the last gift is unwrapped.
Some people find this game a lot of fun, but I just think it's annoying. I think the point of the game is to have fun, but I don't think it's fun to steal. I also don't think it's fun to have things stolen from me. I've done these games several times, and I've seldom enjoyed them. There are a few exceptions--like the time I had the last number, so I just went ahead and opened the last present so the blasted game could be over--and I ended up with this:
And I have to say that I actually had a lot of fun playing this game at my preschool teachers' Christmas party last year. I think the reason that I liked it so much was because everyone knew what they were bringing (and what they were getting). Last year, everyone was supposed to bring a coffee mug, so no matter what, you knew you were also going home with a coffee mug. Except one person misunderstood and brought a pair of aloe-infused socks. You'd better believe everyone tried to steal those! This year, everyone is actually supposed to bring socks, but I'm sure at least one person will be going home with a coffee mug.
I'd like to say that having everyone bring the same gift to a "White Elephant" exchange is a really great idea, but I remember one time when the English honor society at my college (Sigma Tau Delta--STD! It's Contagious!) had a Christmas party and everyone was supposed to bring a book. I brought a classic--Hunchback of Notre Dame. And then I got my hands on a wonderful book of Emily Dickinson poetry. Well, when the game was over, someone shouted, "Now everyone can steal whatever they want!" (which is so NOT an official rule--in fact, it's cheating!), and one of the professors stole my Emily Dickinson poetry book and left me with one of those books that gives you Bible verses for specific subject matters that you can buy in dollar stores. So, yeah, totally bad experience with the book thing. So, I guess what I'm saying is, "White Elephant" gift exchanges work great as long as everyone brings the same thing, and as long as people play by the rules, and as long as one of the people playing isn't a jerky professor who steals my Emily Dickinson poetry book (go buy your own copy with your teacher's discount and leave me alone!!!).
Now, the other thing I hate about Christmas is that atrocity known as "Secret Santa" (or "Secret Sisters" or whatever). *Shudder* I guess some people get a kick out of these things, but they actually make me pretty cranky. I always figure out whose giving me gifts, and the person I'm giving gifts to always figures out it's me. So by the end of it, we're all just telling each other, "Hey, *wink wink hint hint* why don't you get me one of those, 'Secret' Santa." And even if I don't figure out who my person is, I still don't really enjoy it. We get a list of things that our person likes and doesn't like, but it's not a whole lot to go on, especially when there's a set price limit. So I always feel guilty when I have to get lame stuff for my person. And then there's always the people who go WAY overboard and over budget on their gifts. And so, someone always leaves with a huge stash of awesome stuff, making everyone else say, "I wish I had HER Secret Santa. All my lame Secret Santa got me was a pair of aloe-infused socks."
But you know, I guess that's okay, because you can always bring the socks to the next "White Elephant" game.
So yeah. Christmas is coming, and if you know me, I love Christmas. I love just about everything about Christmas. I love Christmas music. I love Christmas lights. I love Christmas movies. I love Christmas food. I love the crazy people that shop at Christmas time. I love it all.
And if you're one of those people who thinks that it's too soon for a Christmas blog, let me tell you that I've been
So I wait. I wait until the rest of the world says it's okay to celebrate Christmas. I don't care if you think this Christmas blog is early; it's after Thanksgiving, so it's considered acceptable. I've waited long enough, and nobody's gonna tell me I can't celebrate CHRISTMAS as much as I want to!
But even an amazing season like Christmas has a few problems. I don't like the cold, but you know, I don't mind it at Christmastime. It's the months of winter that follow Christmas that make me want to crawl into a hole and hibernate until spring.
So is there anything that I really just don't like about Christmas? Yes. Yes, there are actually two things I don't like about Christmas, and they're related. One of them isn't so bad if it's done well, but the other one just makes me mad.
The first grievance I have about Christmas are those silly "White Elephant Dirty SantaYankee Swap" games. If you have no idea what I'm talking about, I'm talking about that game where everyone brings a wrapped gift to a party and everyone draws a number. Then the person with the first number chooses a gift and unwraps it. The person with the next number gets to either unwrap another gift or steal the gift from the person whose already opened one. Then the person who had their gift stolen has to open another gift (or steal from another player). And people go around unwrapping gifts and stealing them from one another until the last gift is unwrapped.
Some people find this game a lot of fun, but I just think it's annoying. I think the point of the game is to have fun, but I don't think it's fun to steal. I also don't think it's fun to have things stolen from me. I've done these games several times, and I've seldom enjoyed them. There are a few exceptions--like the time I had the last number, so I just went ahead and opened the last present so the blasted game could be over--and I ended up with this:
 |
| ...a blue disembodied hand...just what I always wanted... |
I'd like to say that having everyone bring the same gift to a "White Elephant" exchange is a really great idea, but I remember one time when the English honor society at my college (Sigma Tau Delta--STD! It's Contagious!) had a Christmas party and everyone was supposed to bring a book. I brought a classic--Hunchback of Notre Dame. And then I got my hands on a wonderful book of Emily Dickinson poetry. Well, when the game was over, someone shouted, "Now everyone can steal whatever they want!" (which is so NOT an official rule--in fact, it's cheating!), and one of the professors stole my Emily Dickinson poetry book and left me with one of those books that gives you Bible verses for specific subject matters that you can buy in dollar stores. So, yeah, totally bad experience with the book thing. So, I guess what I'm saying is, "White Elephant" gift exchanges work great as long as everyone brings the same thing, and as long as people play by the rules, and as long as one of the people playing isn't a jerky professor who steals my Emily Dickinson poetry book (go buy your own copy with your teacher's discount and leave me alone!!!).
Now, the other thing I hate about Christmas is that atrocity known as "Secret Santa" (or "Secret Sisters" or whatever). *Shudder* I guess some people get a kick out of these things, but they actually make me pretty cranky. I always figure out whose giving me gifts, and the person I'm giving gifts to always figures out it's me. So by the end of it, we're all just telling each other, "Hey, *wink wink hint hint* why don't you get me one of those, 'Secret' Santa." And even if I don't figure out who my person is, I still don't really enjoy it. We get a list of things that our person likes and doesn't like, but it's not a whole lot to go on, especially when there's a set price limit. So I always feel guilty when I have to get lame stuff for my person. And then there's always the people who go WAY overboard and over budget on their gifts. And so, someone always leaves with a huge stash of awesome stuff, making everyone else say, "I wish I had HER Secret Santa. All my lame Secret Santa got me was a pair of aloe-infused socks."
But you know, I guess that's okay, because you can always bring the socks to the next "White Elephant" game.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
SSA Episode #13: The Woman Who Saved Valentine's Day
It's Socially Awkward Adventure #13! I hope none of my readers have triskaidekaphobia. Yes. I had to look up the correct spelling for that. No, that's not what this blog is about.
Have you ever wanted to do something nice for someone (or a group of people), but you lose track of time and find yourself scrambling at the last minute, and by the time you realize that it's too late to accomplish this nice thing, you kind of wish you hadn't thought of doing this nice thing in the first place?
If you could understand what I just wrote, I hope you can answer "No, Ruth. That's just you." Yes, the above scenario is something I have dealt with time and time again. Like, I get this idea that I'm going to make guacamole for a party (seriously...I make awesome guacamole. It's so good I call it "ROCKamole"), then I realize at the last minute that I don't have any avocados, and the only ones I can find in the stores are either too mushy or too hard, and then when I FINALLY find some ripe ones after going to four different stores, I realize I don't have at least an hour and a half to make this guacamole.
Apparently, this blog has a theme today, and this theme is run-on sentences...but I digress...
This post is not about Valentine's Day. Well, it is, but only indirectly. Okay, so it's about Valentine's Day. I mean, sort of...
Have you ever wanted to do something nice for someone (or a group of people), but you lose track of time and find yourself scrambling at the last minute, and by the time you realize that it's too late to accomplish this nice thing, you kind of wish you hadn't thought of doing this nice thing in the first place?
If you could understand what I just wrote, I hope you can answer "No, Ruth. That's just you." Yes, the above scenario is something I have dealt with time and time again. Like, I get this idea that I'm going to make guacamole for a party (seriously...I make awesome guacamole. It's so good I call it "ROCKamole"), then I realize at the last minute that I don't have any avocados, and the only ones I can find in the stores are either too mushy or too hard, and then when I FINALLY find some ripe ones after going to four different stores, I realize I don't have at least an hour and a half to make this guacamole.
Apparently, this blog has a theme today, and this theme is run-on sentences...but I digress...
This post is not about Valentine's Day. Well, it is, but only indirectly. Okay, so it's about Valentine's Day. I mean, sort of...
So recently I saw this card for single people that said something stupid like, "I believe there is someone for everyone out there, and one day you will find yours. Until then, know that I love you and lots of other people do too." Basically, what that says to me is, "Here's a card so you won't feel lonely while the rest of us married people are at home snuggling with our spouses. Enjoy!"
As soon as I got to work, I got a phone call from the minister's wife. She had found the rice krispies treats and was bringing me a box! I mean, she was like a super hero. The day was saved! She saved Valentine's Day!
You know how there are all those stupid movies out there about somebody saving Christmas? Ernest Saves Christmas. Noddy Saves Christmas (who's Noddy? Idk.) Elmo Saves Christmas. Dora Saves Christmas. Diego Saves Christmas (wasn't Dora enough?? Apparently not). Inspector Gadget Saves Christmas (I might actually watch that one). Rainbow Brite Saves Christmas. Felix the Cat Saves Christmas. Mater Saves Christmas. Your Mom saves Christmas (I might have made up that last one). Me thinks I should do a blog on "...saves Christmas" movies. Ya know...like sometime around Christmas...because right now it's around Valentine's Day...
Yeah, so anyway, they should make a movie about the lady who brought me rice krispies treats. They should call it "The Woman Who Saved Valentine's Day." I'd watch it.
I'd watch it because I lived it.
...and I still have half a box of rice krispies treats to prove it.
The thing is, I'm really NOT bummed about Valentine's Day at all. Not at all. I haven't been for several years...and I've been single for several years. In fact, I've only been "with" someone for one Valentine's Day out of my whole life. But I'm not into that whole "Single Awareness Day" or whatever. It's Valentine's Day. I love Valentine's Day! Do you want to know why?
It's because I love kids. I mean, maybe if I had a significant other, I might just think Valentine's Day was all about showing my love to him. But...somehow I doubt it. I mean, all these froo froo hearts and flowers just don't make me feel romantic. They make me feel cutesy. Kids are good with cutesy.
I love getting those perforated valentine's cards to give to the kids in my life. I love putting together Valentine packages for my nieces and nephew. I love putting heart stickers all over the place. I love reading conversation hearts and just being flat out sickeningly adorable. I love Valentine's Day. And the greatest joy to me every Valentine's Day is giving cards/presents to the kids I love.
So...
Late last night I got this idea that I wanted to get individually wrapped rice krispies treats for the kids in my preschool class. We were having a Valentine's party today, so I thought it might be a nice gesture. I figured I had PLENTY of time to run out in the morning and get some rice krispies treats from CVS. Only CVS didn't seem to have any rice krispies treats--at least not that I could see. And CVS is pretty hopping on random Thursday mornings, especially when the ground is covered with a very light dusting of snow that will have completely melted away by noon--because in the South, if there's snow, that means everyone needs milk and bread immediately and at the same time, or the world will explode in a rainbow of heart-shaped confetti. So I couldn't ask anyone where the rice krispies treats were because all the employees were busy helping people find bread and milk that didn't seem to exist anymore.
No big deal. I had a plan B! There is a grocery store right around the corner from where I work. So I went there. I was still a few minutes ahead of schedule. It was awesome. I'd run in, find the rice krispies treats, and self-check my way out of there to arrive on time to work in a blaze of rice krispies treats glory. Only I couldn't seem to find the rice krispies treats at this store, either. I was browsing the snack aisle (a logical place to find...ya know...snacks), when I ran into one of the minister's wives from my church. I thought she was amazing before, but listen to this:
She greeted me. I explained my dilemma. She said she thought that the rice krispies treats should be with the snacks, too (logical place, that's all I'm saying). Well, I had to run because by this time I was late for work, so I figured the rice krispies treats were just not meant to be.
Alas. My quest for the rice krispies treats had come to an end. I had failed.
But, I say again, listen to this...(or read this...because it's written and not spoken...whatever...)
No big deal. I had a plan B! There is a grocery store right around the corner from where I work. So I went there. I was still a few minutes ahead of schedule. It was awesome. I'd run in, find the rice krispies treats, and self-check my way out of there to arrive on time to work in a blaze of rice krispies treats glory. Only I couldn't seem to find the rice krispies treats at this store, either. I was browsing the snack aisle (a logical place to find...ya know...snacks), when I ran into one of the minister's wives from my church. I thought she was amazing before, but listen to this:
She greeted me. I explained my dilemma. She said she thought that the rice krispies treats should be with the snacks, too (logical place, that's all I'm saying). Well, I had to run because by this time I was late for work, so I figured the rice krispies treats were just not meant to be.
Alas. My quest for the rice krispies treats had come to an end. I had failed.
But, I say again, listen to this...(or read this...because it's written and not spoken...whatever...)
As soon as I got to work, I got a phone call from the minister's wife. She had found the rice krispies treats and was bringing me a box! I mean, she was like a super hero. The day was saved! She saved Valentine's Day!
You know how there are all those stupid movies out there about somebody saving Christmas? Ernest Saves Christmas. Noddy Saves Christmas (who's Noddy? Idk.) Elmo Saves Christmas. Dora Saves Christmas. Diego Saves Christmas (wasn't Dora enough?? Apparently not). Inspector Gadget Saves Christmas (I might actually watch that one). Rainbow Brite Saves Christmas. Felix the Cat Saves Christmas. Mater Saves Christmas. Your Mom saves Christmas (I might have made up that last one). Me thinks I should do a blog on "...saves Christmas" movies. Ya know...like sometime around Christmas...because right now it's around Valentine's Day...
Yeah, so anyway, they should make a movie about the lady who brought me rice krispies treats. They should call it "The Woman Who Saved Valentine's Day." I'd watch it.
I'd watch it because I lived it.
...and I still have half a box of rice krispies treats to prove it.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
A Socially Awkward Christmas
In the Christian preschool classroom where I "teach" (my "teaching" usually consists of telling one and two-year-olds that it's not nice to sit on their friends) there is a bulletin board arrangement of a nativity scene. It's a very nice kid-friendly bulletin board nativity scene, but the more I look at it, the more I get a little freaked out by it. It has all the characters, Mary and Joseph and Baby Jesus, the shepherds (complete with sheep), the wisemen, the angels, and even a camel and donkey for good measure. Now, every one of these characters, except for the wisemen (for some unknown reason--maybe just because they're, ya know, wise or something) have these ridiculously huge happy face smiles plastered on their faces. The shepherds and the sheep have "the smile." Mary and Joseph have "the smile." The donkey and the camel have "the smile." Even the angels and Baby Jesus have "the smile." The more I look at them, the more freaked out I get...so I just try not to look at them. Btw, Baby Jesus also has a little halo around his head, which one of my two-year-olds referred to as "Baby Jesus' hat." Cute.
My roommate has a little nativity scene. She put Christmas lights all around it, and I must admit, it looks very pretty. See:
But the more I look at this nativity scene, the more I think, "Why are Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus all holding their hands that way?" Are they trying to look holy (this is the most likely conclusion)? Are they extending their arms in surprise and alarm (I suppose Baby Jesus was like other babies and had the startle reflex, but that doesn't explain Mary and Joseph's behavior)? Are Mary and Joseph playing peek-a-boo with Baby Jesus (wait...that's not in the Bible!)? I'm not sure why they look that way.
Because the way I figure, most representations we have of that first Christmas are probably not very accurate. I mean, this goes beyond the simple idea that the wisemen probably didn't even come into the picture until Jesus was about 2 years old. That song "Silent Night" is beautiful, and quite frankly, I just don't feel like it's Christmas without hearing and singing it--but it's probably not a very accurate song. It probably wasn't a silent night at all.
I blame my attitudes on the fact that when I was 8 years old, I got to play Gladys Herdman in a school production of "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" (if you haven't read the book by Barbara Robinson, you should--it's only about 100 pages and too cute!). The Herdmans were this family of scruffy kids who bullied everyone else and whom no one liked. They somehow got mixed up in the church's Christmas pageant. The oldest Herdman sister played Mary, and her brother played Joseph. They didn't act like the nativity scene Mary and Joseph. Gladys (that was me) played an angel with a crooked halo and wings (and dirty sneakers showing beneath her angel robe) who went around pushing the shepherds. While I don't think angels go around pushing people, I do think the nativity scene was pretty different from what most good little Christians seem to believe.
Joseph had this task of trying to find his pregnant wife a place to HAVE A BABY. I don't know how many places he went to look for a room. There were no nice clean hospitals with NICUs. There were no state of the art birthing centers. Shoot, Joseph couldn't even dig up a warm bed for Mary. I don't know how many innkeepers he spoke to, and I don't know how long it took him to even find one willing to offer him a stable--but I imagine all of it was fairly awkward. And so the Christ child, the Messiah, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, God in the flesh had to be born in a barn. Joseph probably wasn't a very good midwife. Mary didn't have an epidural and probably wasn't well-practiced in lamaze. Jesus was probably covered in placenta and baby goo when Mary wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger. She probably breast fed him, too, since formula kinda sorta hadn't been invented yet. I don't know why, but most good little Christians would probably get a little uncomfortable about the idea of Mary breast-feeding their infant Savior.
Let's back this up about nine months. Mary was minding her own business when suddenly this angel comes and tells her she's going to have a baby--and not just any baby--the "Son of God." How awkward would it be to have to tell an angel, "Um, how can this be, because I haven't had 'relations?'"
And then after Mary starts showing, poor Joseph thinks his betrothed cheated on him. He only believes differently because an angel tells him in a dream that this child was concieved of the Holy Spirit. An angel. In a dream. Right. The only way someone wouldn't think this was a crazy story was if they had heard it all their lives--which is the case with most Christians. It's a crazy story, one which I happen to believe--because as the angel told Mary, "Nothing is impossible with God."
By the way, I don't want to get into the wisemen's part of the story too much, but they had angels talk to them in dreams, too. They also followed a star. Most of this behavior wouldn't sit too well with modern Christians.
I do want to talk about the shepherds. Shepherds, well, they took care of sheep. They probably smelled like sheep because they probably lived and slept and ate amongst their sheep. I'll bet they talked to their sheep more than they talked to other people. When they did talk to other people, it probably consisted of talking to other shepherds:
"Hey, Bob, you seen any 'bars' lately?"
"Sure, Fred, I killed me three 'bars' last week. Them be tryin' to eat my sheeps, agin."
"Good lands, Bob. Them 'bars' be a real problum. I done 'kilt' me a 'lyun' a few days ago with my new Red Rider slingyshot."
"A 'lyun', you say? Man, these here fields not be as safe as they used to be."
"Yeah, lucky I got Ol' Blue. She's got a compass in the stock."
Yeah.
Of all the socially awkward people in those times, I'm sure shepherds were near the top of the list. So imagine being a dirty shepherd out in a field, when suddenly an angel appears. Scripture says the shepherds were "sore afraid."
Um, duh.
Let me just put it out there that the images of angels we see around Christmastime (and the rest of the year, too) are probably not very accurate. They aren't scrawny kids with crooked haloes and dirty sneakers beneath their robes, but they also aren't pretty blonde ladies in white dresses with tinsel halos and real faux feather wings and body glitter, either. According to most Biblical descriptions, they were pretty scary looking. For some reason they had like 82 wings to cover various parts of their bodies, and they had a lot of eyes. So, yeah, I'd be afraid if I saw one of those, too. It would be scarier than the creepy bulletin board "smiley" nativity scene...
But the angel's message is pretty amazing. "Fear not, for I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people (I'm assuming that means that smelly, socially awkward shepherds are included), for today in the city of David has been born to you a Savior who is Christ the Lord."
That would have been enough to faze me, but the angel continued:
"Oh, and here's a sign. The baby is going to be wrapped in rags and lying in a manger."
"Bob, did that there angul just say that Christ is born and lying in a manger?"
"I think he did, Fred, but that be what our sheeps eat out of!"
"Well, I'll be. Why the angul be tellin' us? If I'd be an angul, I'd be tellin' kings, not shepherds."
"I dunno, but look, there's a lot more of 'em."
I picture a scene in heaven. "Aww, God, why does Gabriel get to go? Gabriel gets all the cool messenger jobs." "God, can't I go, too. I want to tell the shepherds your news." "Me, too, God!" "Please let us go!" "We want to proclaim your glory to the meek shepherds!"
And God smiled and said, "Okay. Everybody get out there and give those shepherds I chose a good show."
And so all the angels, whatever they looked like, were priviledged to tell those simple shepherds, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom His favor rests."
Whenever I read this Bible verse in Luke 2, I always get angry with myself because I opted to take Spanish in college instead of Greek. I can't remember much Spanish beyond "Donde esta bano," so that was a waste (no pun intended), but I also don't know enough Greek to translate the phrase "on earth peace to men on whom His favor rests." Does that mean there's peace on earth for those whom God finds favor with, or does that mean there's peace on earth to men because God's favor is with them? Various translations and commentaries offer various insight into this passage--but really, I've come to the conclusion that as far as I'm concerned, it doesn't greatly matter.
Because God came down to make peace with us, and we can have that peace if we choose it. That's the point of Christmas. We try to clean it up with all our happy and holy nativity scenes. We try to pretty it up by making it seem that Baby Jesus never cried or spit up or had a poopy diaper. But Baby Jesus was probably just like any other baby because God came down in the form of a human--he knew flesh just like the rest of us (even if he never sinned). Jesus had body odor. Jesus probably had diarrhea. Jesus felt pain and joy, and Jesus lived and died. Death just couldn't hold him, because nothing is impossible with God. All things are impossible for us--that's why God had to intervene and make peace with those who had rebelled against him. That's the point of Christmas.
And the first people who got to experience this gift of peace were those dirty, awkward shepherds. And the first resting place for the King was a feeding trough. God has always been in the business of choosing the weak and foolish to shame the strong and wise. That's why I'm able to say, as I did when I was 8 years old with my crooked halo to a packed audience (making my mother cry):
HEY! UNTO YOU A CHILD IS BORN!
My roommate has a little nativity scene. She put Christmas lights all around it, and I must admit, it looks very pretty. See:
But the more I look at this nativity scene, the more I think, "Why are Mary, Joseph, and Baby Jesus all holding their hands that way?" Are they trying to look holy (this is the most likely conclusion)? Are they extending their arms in surprise and alarm (I suppose Baby Jesus was like other babies and had the startle reflex, but that doesn't explain Mary and Joseph's behavior)? Are Mary and Joseph playing peek-a-boo with Baby Jesus (wait...that's not in the Bible!)? I'm not sure why they look that way.
Because the way I figure, most representations we have of that first Christmas are probably not very accurate. I mean, this goes beyond the simple idea that the wisemen probably didn't even come into the picture until Jesus was about 2 years old. That song "Silent Night" is beautiful, and quite frankly, I just don't feel like it's Christmas without hearing and singing it--but it's probably not a very accurate song. It probably wasn't a silent night at all.
I blame my attitudes on the fact that when I was 8 years old, I got to play Gladys Herdman in a school production of "The Best Christmas Pageant Ever" (if you haven't read the book by Barbara Robinson, you should--it's only about 100 pages and too cute!). The Herdmans were this family of scruffy kids who bullied everyone else and whom no one liked. They somehow got mixed up in the church's Christmas pageant. The oldest Herdman sister played Mary, and her brother played Joseph. They didn't act like the nativity scene Mary and Joseph. Gladys (that was me) played an angel with a crooked halo and wings (and dirty sneakers showing beneath her angel robe) who went around pushing the shepherds. While I don't think angels go around pushing people, I do think the nativity scene was pretty different from what most good little Christians seem to believe.
Joseph had this task of trying to find his pregnant wife a place to HAVE A BABY. I don't know how many places he went to look for a room. There were no nice clean hospitals with NICUs. There were no state of the art birthing centers. Shoot, Joseph couldn't even dig up a warm bed for Mary. I don't know how many innkeepers he spoke to, and I don't know how long it took him to even find one willing to offer him a stable--but I imagine all of it was fairly awkward. And so the Christ child, the Messiah, the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, God in the flesh had to be born in a barn. Joseph probably wasn't a very good midwife. Mary didn't have an epidural and probably wasn't well-practiced in lamaze. Jesus was probably covered in placenta and baby goo when Mary wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him in a manger. She probably breast fed him, too, since formula kinda sorta hadn't been invented yet. I don't know why, but most good little Christians would probably get a little uncomfortable about the idea of Mary breast-feeding their infant Savior.
Let's back this up about nine months. Mary was minding her own business when suddenly this angel comes and tells her she's going to have a baby--and not just any baby--the "Son of God." How awkward would it be to have to tell an angel, "Um, how can this be, because I haven't had 'relations?'"
And then after Mary starts showing, poor Joseph thinks his betrothed cheated on him. He only believes differently because an angel tells him in a dream that this child was concieved of the Holy Spirit. An angel. In a dream. Right. The only way someone wouldn't think this was a crazy story was if they had heard it all their lives--which is the case with most Christians. It's a crazy story, one which I happen to believe--because as the angel told Mary, "Nothing is impossible with God."
By the way, I don't want to get into the wisemen's part of the story too much, but they had angels talk to them in dreams, too. They also followed a star. Most of this behavior wouldn't sit too well with modern Christians.
I do want to talk about the shepherds. Shepherds, well, they took care of sheep. They probably smelled like sheep because they probably lived and slept and ate amongst their sheep. I'll bet they talked to their sheep more than they talked to other people. When they did talk to other people, it probably consisted of talking to other shepherds:
"Hey, Bob, you seen any 'bars' lately?"
"Sure, Fred, I killed me three 'bars' last week. Them be tryin' to eat my sheeps, agin."
"Good lands, Bob. Them 'bars' be a real problum. I done 'kilt' me a 'lyun' a few days ago with my new Red Rider slingyshot."
"A 'lyun', you say? Man, these here fields not be as safe as they used to be."
"Yeah, lucky I got Ol' Blue. She's got a compass in the stock."
Yeah.
Of all the socially awkward people in those times, I'm sure shepherds were near the top of the list. So imagine being a dirty shepherd out in a field, when suddenly an angel appears. Scripture says the shepherds were "sore afraid."
Um, duh.
Let me just put it out there that the images of angels we see around Christmastime (and the rest of the year, too) are probably not very accurate. They aren't scrawny kids with crooked haloes and dirty sneakers beneath their robes, but they also aren't pretty blonde ladies in white dresses with tinsel halos and real faux feather wings and body glitter, either. According to most Biblical descriptions, they were pretty scary looking. For some reason they had like 82 wings to cover various parts of their bodies, and they had a lot of eyes. So, yeah, I'd be afraid if I saw one of those, too. It would be scarier than the creepy bulletin board "smiley" nativity scene...
But the angel's message is pretty amazing. "Fear not, for I bring you good news of great joy which will be for all the people (I'm assuming that means that smelly, socially awkward shepherds are included), for today in the city of David has been born to you a Savior who is Christ the Lord."
That would have been enough to faze me, but the angel continued:
"Oh, and here's a sign. The baby is going to be wrapped in rags and lying in a manger."
"Bob, did that there angul just say that Christ is born and lying in a manger?"
"I think he did, Fred, but that be what our sheeps eat out of!"
"Well, I'll be. Why the angul be tellin' us? If I'd be an angul, I'd be tellin' kings, not shepherds."
"I dunno, but look, there's a lot more of 'em."
I picture a scene in heaven. "Aww, God, why does Gabriel get to go? Gabriel gets all the cool messenger jobs." "God, can't I go, too. I want to tell the shepherds your news." "Me, too, God!" "Please let us go!" "We want to proclaim your glory to the meek shepherds!"
And God smiled and said, "Okay. Everybody get out there and give those shepherds I chose a good show."
And so all the angels, whatever they looked like, were priviledged to tell those simple shepherds, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom His favor rests."
Whenever I read this Bible verse in Luke 2, I always get angry with myself because I opted to take Spanish in college instead of Greek. I can't remember much Spanish beyond "Donde esta bano," so that was a waste (no pun intended), but I also don't know enough Greek to translate the phrase "on earth peace to men on whom His favor rests." Does that mean there's peace on earth for those whom God finds favor with, or does that mean there's peace on earth to men because God's favor is with them? Various translations and commentaries offer various insight into this passage--but really, I've come to the conclusion that as far as I'm concerned, it doesn't greatly matter.
Because God came down to make peace with us, and we can have that peace if we choose it. That's the point of Christmas. We try to clean it up with all our happy and holy nativity scenes. We try to pretty it up by making it seem that Baby Jesus never cried or spit up or had a poopy diaper. But Baby Jesus was probably just like any other baby because God came down in the form of a human--he knew flesh just like the rest of us (even if he never sinned). Jesus had body odor. Jesus probably had diarrhea. Jesus felt pain and joy, and Jesus lived and died. Death just couldn't hold him, because nothing is impossible with God. All things are impossible for us--that's why God had to intervene and make peace with those who had rebelled against him. That's the point of Christmas.
And the first people who got to experience this gift of peace were those dirty, awkward shepherds. And the first resting place for the King was a feeding trough. God has always been in the business of choosing the weak and foolish to shame the strong and wise. That's why I'm able to say, as I did when I was 8 years old with my crooked halo to a packed audience (making my mother cry):
HEY! UNTO YOU A CHILD IS BORN!
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