Loose Ends and Such

I've got too many things that need to be said so it's time for a random sort of list:

-- Christmas Crazy, at this exact moment, stands at $310. Given that you all were so amazing as to come together with around $3000 last year, I'm expecting the same (or more) this year. We've got two weeks left to go, so please and thank you and you're awesome for donating, no matter the amount. It's for the kids!

-- There are some ways you can shop and help Christmas Crazy. There are some super cute barrettes over here and then there are these:

Create your own video slideshow at animoto.com.

Have I ever mentioned that I love Pittsburgh? Yeah.

-- Speaking of Pittsburgh, if you live close enough, I have a pair of Brewfest tickets up for grabs. See that? You give so kids who wouldn't otherwise have gifts under the tree can have a great Christmas and I give you beer. It's like magic!

-- Creating a Facebook Fan Page for this site has always been approximately one notch above French braiding Robin Williams' back hair with my tongue on my No Way In Hell Would I Ever Do It List. Yeah . . . well . . . I hope Robin stays far, far away because I went and did that Facebook thing. I'm posting Christmas Crazy updates there as well as links to all sorts of things that I want to throw at the internet. You are invited to join the party, if you so desire.

-- A few weeks ago I changed the layout of my Photography page and made it a blog. A PHOTOGRAPHY BLOG, PEOPLE. There are a few posts up over there now, with more set to go live soon. There's a separate RSS feed for that part of the world, so if you want to subscribe, here it is.

-- If you see Alexis in the next few days and you happen to hear her say, "Get out of my butt," I'm sorry. She has been watching a weeeee bit too much Toy Story 3 lately. WHOOPS.

-- Speaking of things Alexis has been saying, lately she's been starting her day with a, "I'm going to do whatever you tell me to do, ma'am." She's talking to me when she says it. First of all, WHAAAA? I don't even know what to do with that. I feel like I should start tossing out orders like I would to a dancing monkey, but I'm always stunned silent when it happens. I need ideas people. Bring 'em on.

-- Oh, hey, did you donate to Christmas Crazy yet? Did I mention that it would mean a lot to a lot of people? Yeah, that.

The Letter I Can Bite Me

I made it all the way to the letter "I" before I wanted to send Alphabet Show-n-Tell to time out. Just in case you happen to be blissfully unaware of the "joy" that is Alphabet Show-n-Tell (in which case, CAN I BE YOU?), it's when a school adds a little extra rule to the usual Show-n-Tell. Each week the name of the item the kids bring in to show off to their friends has to start with the designated letter of the alphabet. Alexis took an apple for A week, a Barbie with brown hair for B week, a cat stuffed animal for C week, and so on.

But I week was a whole new challenge.

I asked Alexis last week what she planned to take. Usually she rattles something off immediately, which makes me think she and her friends hold secret Alphabet Show-n-Tell conferences during school. All I'm saying is that their lives seem to revolve around Show-n-Tell, much like my life revolves around Starbucks and chocolate. This time, however, I was met with, "I don't know. Do you have any ideas?" when I asked.

Idiot?

Nope. Couldn't use that one.

Imbecile?

Probably not age appropriate.

Ingrate?

Yeah, ummmm . . . no.

Inferior?

There seems to be a pattern here . . .

So while I apparently can toss out I insults like a boss, I couldn't think of a usable noun. After much hemming and hawing and a little consultation with Dr. Google, I decided I was going to cheat and convince Alexis that one of her dolls was named either Isabella or Isaac.

When it was time to grab the Show-n-Tell item, I walked into the playroom, pillaged in the closet, and emerged with a long ago forgotten doll. "Hey, look! It's your doll Isabella! I bet she'd be perfect for Show-n-Tell."

"Her name isn't Isabella," Alexis replied. "That's Lolly."

"Oh, wait! I found Isaac!" I don't give up easily.

"That's not Isaac. That's Feffer," Alexis replied.

I might have mumbled a few obscenities under my breath at that point, because WTH? Since when does every doll in this house have a name? That doesn't start with I?

Alexis rolled her eyes at me and said she would find something. She went into the closet, started tossing boxes and toys and assorted debris here and there, and then emerged victorious with a stuffed iguana.

Of course! Iguana! I don't know why the hell we have a stuffed iguana, but of course we have a stuffed iguana. Why wouldn't we?

I praised the short person up and down for being so smart and then started to leave the room.

"But I doooon't wannnna bring the iguannnna to school," Alexis whined. I'm a boss with I insults, but she's a boss with the pointless whining.

"And why not?" I asked.

"It's not cuddly," she whined.

Of course. Not only does the Show-n-Tell item have to follow the magical mystical alphabet rules, it also must be cuddly so that she-who-allegedly-naps-at-preschool can snuggle with it for a little while. I think it's an urban legend that she really does sleep, so I suppose that the cuddly part is a tiny bit important, what with her need to smoosh and nuzzle and kick when she's not sleeping. The stuffed iguana is about as cuddly as a rock. It's the sort of quality of stuffed animal that you'll find at a roadside carnival as a reward for throwing a ball though an oval-shaped basketball hoop. I'm pretty sure that if Alexis had kicked it while she was not sleeping, she would have broken a toe.

But I didn't care. I was done looking for an I thing, so I told her to suck it up and take the iguana. She doesn't need all ten of her toes anyway.

MELTDOWN. ALL OVER THE FLOOR.

Homey don't play that and neither do I, so Alexis ended up with her choice of going to school empty-handed or taking the iguana. She took the iguana.

AND SHE SURVIVED! Whoddathunkit?

I need to start planning out the rest of the alphabet. Now. Just in case.

Kicking Off Christmas Crazy

Everywhere you looked, you could find images filled with bruised and beaten parents crushing one another as they rushed towards store shelves to find that magic Christmas gift. Elbows were thrown, faces were punched, people were injured . . . all for a doll. A Cabbage Patch Doll.

It was the early 80's and the craze was at it's absolute peak.

I, like pretty much every little girl at the time, wanted one so badly.

I begged. I made promises. I pleaded. I swore I would be the most amazingly well-behaved kid that side of the Black Hills.

It didn't really matter. Cabbage Patch Dolls were harder to find than a classy photo of Amy Winehouse.

But then one day, I found some. I had wandered into the hardware store right beside the trailer park where we lived. Way in the back of the store, high up on one of the top shelves, right next to the green garden hoses and lawn fertilizer, there they sat. Four Cabbage Patch Dolls marked to sell at $50, probably double what they would have cost if they had been at a big box store.

It didn't matter that they were over-priced, they were THERE and no one seemed to have realized it. I ran home as fast as my legs would carry me. I burst through the door and excitedly reported my find to my mom. It was the one and only time I ever saw her roll her eyes, and now that I'm a parent, I think I understand how she felt. I went on and on, trying desperately to drag her out of the house so she would go buy one Right. That. Second. Getting one of those dolls had become The Most Important Thing in the World.

She let me carry on for probably ten minutes or so before she essentially told me to shut my trap. Of course, I wouldn't. I went on and on and on some more, never once relenting. Finally, she promised to talk to my dad about the dolls, but only if I stopped asking about them.

I did, but only because I wanted to go back to the hardware store and stand guard over the dolls.

And stand guard I did, for two solid days. I left their side only to go to school and to sleep. I was convinced that if I stood in front of them long enough, my parents would magically show up and buy at least one of them. No, TWO of them. Why not dream big?

On the third day I rushed home from school, ran to the back of that store, and stood there staring at the empty shelf. All four of the Cabbage Patch Dolls were gone.

I. was. devastated.

Part of me understood why my parents hadn't rushed out to buy one. I knew money was tight. Why else would we be living in a run-down trailer where rent was less than what some people spend on groceries in a week? I understood that there were medical bills to pay, that scraping by meant sacrifice, and that a doll was the last thing our pennies should be spent on.

But I was still devastated.

Time went by and I continued to long for that elusive Cabbage Patch Doll. I wished for one whenever I saw a falling star. I asked Santa, even though I knew he was a fraud. I carefully wrote "Cabbage Patch Doll" on the little Wish List paper our family filled out for the Salvation Army. I told everyone who would listen that I wanted a Cabbage Patch Doll for Christmas.

Christmas rolled around and I cautiously eyed the packages under the tree. I didn't have a room of my own at the time, just a bed that folded out from the couch in the living room. While it was normally a major bottle of suck, on Christmas Eve, it was a blessing. I was able to monitor the gift situation closely.

I didn't see anything that was Cabbage Patch Doll-shaped.

But then Christmas morning I woke up, and there it was. A box the exact right size and the exact right shape and OMG! WAS IT A CABBAGE PATCH DOLL?

It was. Karla Robin. She had curly brown hair and a pink and white dress.

I didn't ask questions. I didn't prod. All I knew is that she was one of the four dolls I had seen at the hardware store a few months prior. I figured my parents must have bought her and hid her, silently torturing me all that time.

Later I found out the rest of the story. I found out that my parents were no longer welcome at that hardware store. I found out that they had, in fact, been banned. I found out that they had written a check to pay for the Cabbage Patch Doll and that there wasn't money in the account to cover that check. It bounced higher than Tigger on speed.

I begged and pleaded. They stole the doll because of it. Perhaps not intentionally, but they stole it. They just wanted to make me happy.

Isn't that what most parents want? To make their kids happy? It seems to matter most at Christmas, that one magical time of the year when dreams are supposed to come true. Sometimes those dreams are bigger than a checking account and sometimes parents aren't able to do it.

Sometimes they need help.

It's that time of year again, dear friends. It's Christmas Crazy time. It's the time of year when I ask you to open your wallets so that together we can make a difference. This year we will once again be working to make sure kids get gifts for Christmas. We'll be working with Alle-Kiski Area HOPE Center, the Woman's Center and Shelter of Greater Pittsburgh, and Toys for Tots. All three will help make sure that your money is used to make Christmas a little brighter for a kid who may need it.

So, got a buck?

(More details about the origins and history of Christmas Crazy can be found here.)