Transforming Christmas

When I was in the fifth grade, my parents announced that they were separating and would likely divorce. As time drew on, my dad got his own little one bedroom apartment, and it became apparent that the separation was permanent. My sister and I spent our Tuesday nights and some weekends at my dad's little bachelor pad. We watched the A-Team on a little 13 inch screen and ate a lot of spam in that apartment. While the divorce was relatively amicable, things seemed ugly and dull.

I guess that's how my dad felt at Christmastime when he said he wanted to get the ugliest tree on the lot. The scraggly little twig that he placed atop his homemade oak end table for us to decorate was a hideous little thing--dead needles and big gaping holes, barely strong enough to support the lights strung about its pathetic little branches.

With a bit of care, however, we transformed that unsightly little "tree" into something quite lovely. Despite its drooping branches, the glow from the colored lights somehow warmed that lonely little apartment and brought some Christmas cheer to the three of us.

My dad's intentions suddenly made sense to me: Life was a bit ugly for now, but would warm up and be enjoyable soon... ...Either that, or he was just rebelling against the fabulous 7 foot evergreens that usually adorned our living room at my mom's house. "Take that!"

Why I'm Pretty Sure Ebenezer Scrooge Hailed From L.A.

I was fortunate enough to attend the Nutcracker, performed by the San Francisco ballet, when I was in the second grade. I have never forgotten sitting high up in the balcony, peering down at the dancers below with my dad's binoculars and studying the glittering, beaded costumes. I was taking ballet at the time, and I was studying how remarkably pointy all the ladies' toes were... Would I ever be able to stand on my tippy toes like that? It was a magical experience.

Sadly, I have never had the chance to go back to see the Nutcracker since. So when my mom got our family tickets to see a production by a local dance academy, we jumped at the chance.

And by jumped, I mean sat in traffic for three hours to travel 39.39 miles. That's right folks: on the freeways of Los Angeles, we traveled an average of 13.33 miles per hour. I'm sure I don't have to elaborate on the mood in the car. Let's just say, if I had any delusions of reliving my magical Nutcracker experience from childhood, I got totally screwed by downtown traffic... Or more aptly put: I got scrooged.

Bah! Humbug!!!!

Twelve Days of Christmas Tag

One amusing Christmas Memory: When I was a kid, we had a cabin in the mountains. It had a cozy fireplace in the living room that had been amped up by my dad's favorite obsession in the early eighties: The wood burning stove... Which could thaw the Sierra chill in no time flat.

Above the mantle sat a stuffed bobcat that came with the cabin. We named him George. The taxidermist who stuffed George had attempted to mummify him with a snarl on his face, but had failed miserably--It looked much more like a smile. So we always decorated George with a Santa hat around the holidays because he looked so very cheerful.

After a full day of playing in the snow, we would come inside and dry out all of our wet clothes by the fireplace, sometimes hanging things from various parts of George. So my amusing memory is simply a snapshot in my mind of George the smiling bobcat, smiling ferociously atop the fireplace, with a Santa hat on his head, and a pair of pink underwear hanging from his mouth to dry.

Two theories as to why Santa chooses the chimney as his best means of entry: Theory #1...His first job as a cat burglar was interrupted by a brief stint in a federal prison. As he was being busted for his third strike for breaking and entering through a chimney, he concocted the story about breaking IN to the home to deliver presents, and the judge threw out the case... but the FBI never got off his back, so he's been forced to keep up the ruse indefinitely;

Theory #2...Santa was raised in 'da hood and was afraid if he was seen in his neighborhood wearing his slick red suit, he'd get shot. He would Fo' sho' end up gettin' capped in a drive-by if the gang wearing blue suits (Hanukkah Harry, I'm looking in your direction, yo!) ever saw him walking in through the front door.

Three things you want for Christmas: Warm clothes; Cute clothes; Liposuction to fit into cute, warm clothes.

Four of your favorite Christmas movies: "A Christmas Story," "Christmas Vacation," "Elf," "Love Actually."

Five ways you've been naughty this year: I'll never tell!

Six ways you've been nice: I can't think of anything. Hmmmm. I wonder which of Santa's lists I'm destined to wind up on!

Seven people you suspect are elves: Ummmm. ME?!?; Anna Holgerson; Chris Kattan; Bjork; Tori Amos; Kiera Knightley, Nicole Kidman

Eight of Santa's reindeer: Flasher, Exotic Dancer, Prancer (sorry... That one's just funny as is), Nixon, Comic, Putrid, Mumbler, and Dissin'

Nine uses for snow: Skiing (Side Note: I really like writing words with double vowels in them... Vacuum is another favorite); For some reason, just BEGS to be played in; Finding creative places to put Frosty the snowman's carrot decoration; Making polar bears invisible so they can successfully sneak up on their prey; Cool to look at the individual flakes under a microscope for the split second they survive on the glass slide before the light bulb melts it (I had a fairly nerdy childhood, eh?); Creating a most impressive scene during the aerial shot of outdoor football games in Buffalo; Gives me an excuse to wear cute hats; Fabulous ammo for pelting small, unsuspecting children (plus, the weapon melts or is obliterated without a trace upon impact); My favorite sound in the world is the way snowfall seems to absorb all other sound.

Ten least favorite things about Christmas: Trying to think of creative gift ideas for men; Bragging Family Newsletters; Mall parking lots; Gaining weight because I can't say NO to homemade confections; Hanging the lights on the tree; Taking down the decorations when all is said and done; Boy bands taking liberties with sacred Christmas hymns and turning them into pop crap; Deciding whose house to go to for the festivities; Living in Southern California, where it's likely to be 80 degrees on Christmas day; Receiving a gift that you know has been regifted.

Eleven word associations to "figgy pudding": (1)I'll (2)bet (3)that (4)would (5)look (6)like (7)a (8)big (9)pile (10)of (11)poop.... Seriously. Pudding made out of figs?!? Blehck!

Twelve reasons you love Christmas: Christmas songs (the good old timey stuff and the Nutcracker are my favorites!); Hunting for impressive light displays; Christmas Eve crab feed at home with the boys; Quietly reading the nativity to focus on what Christmas is really about; All the homemade goodies that make me fat; Only one hour of church the Sunday before Christmas, and it's usually an hour filled with beautiful music and great, uplifting stories; Cold weather (in every part of the country except So.Cal); Christmas movies; The smells of Christmas (fireplaces, baking pies, pine trees, cinnamon, gingerbread); Visiting with family and friends; A little extra time off work; Feeling like there is still magic to be had... No matter how old you are.

I tag the first twelve people to get through this entire post... Just sign your name in the comment section when you accept the challenge.

"Clark Griswold on Crack"...and a bunch of other stuff I pilfered off of other peoples' blogs because I sucky suck at finding anything good on YouTube

I'm hoping to have 12 posts about Christmas done before the holiday actually arrives.
You know... 12 Days of Christmas and all that.

That would be a great idea if I had any talent for finding good stuff on YouTube (which, I have learned, is a wonderful means of filling up your blog with really funny crap with very little effort... BUT, also means you have posts for which nobody takes the time to pause your music player, and will probably pass up the opportunity to watch the funny crap and become enlightened...) But I digress.

My point is this: I have no knack for finding anything good on YouTube. Whenever I try, I end up stuck watching cute little babies burping, or kittens batting around balls of yarn. Or even better is when I find some embittered chick with hairy armpits ranting about the oppression of mistreated avocado farmers. So I give up. I will just stumble around the blogosphere on occasion and happen upon little gems like these.

May you delight in the Holiday mirth which I have been enjoying so much on the blogs of those far more imaginative and YouTube-capable than I.

First, I pose a question: What if Clark Griswold did crack? Imagine what his house would look like at Christmas time. If "Sparky" could have gotten his hands on something a little stronger than the egg nog he shared with cousin Eddy in his festive Wally World mug, I think his house would have had a similar resemblance to this astounding display.



Secondly, I wish to share a little Christmas story I stole from Wayne's sister's blog:

Once upon a time, a little babe was born in Bethlehem. A star shone in the East upon His arrival. It was a magical night, and visitors from many lands came to pay homage to the newborn king: Shepherds travelled far after learning of his coming from a Heavenly Host. Wise men came bearing gifts of gold, frankincense, myrrh. And a great big gorilla tried to snatch baby Jesus and carry Him away to Jane Goodall. But Mary and Joseph fed the gorilla a nice banana, and the great ape was placated. THE END.

At least that's the gist we got when our little two year old niece "enhanced" the nativity this year... Although there is still some debate as to whether or not it was really her, or if perhaps her daddy snuck one past mommy when she wasn't looking.

Lastly, in honor of the Twelve Days of Christmas, here is a video that makes me smile, no matter how many times I watch it. And you betcha... I stole it from my sister's blog in light of my disability with all things YouTube. I wish I were this amazingly talented. I think it's true genius when you can SING comedy.


Thanks to all who posted their super-fantastic uncopyrighted material.

And (once again) Merry Christmas from the Van Cleaves!

The Gift That Keeps on Giving

I have reached a momentous occasion

in my pediatric dental residency...

Undergone a right of passage, so to speak.

Today was special--

A truly marvelous experience.

It was a time to be thankful for a job that allows me

to give to the community.

Some days, you get to enjoy the patients

who are so generous as to give back.

I will cherish these moments...

Always.

Today...

I got barfed on for the first time!

YAY, Puke!!!

How could this POSSIBLY be worth $10 an hour?

• Fake Santa wig and beard: $25
• Jenny Craig plan to aid in working off those extra pounds used to get into full character: $100
• Dry cleaning bill for urine and puke stains on red velvet suit: $30

Terrifying kids 8 hours a day all in the name of Christmas Cheer: Priceless!

In Lieu of Fancy Schmancy Christmas Cards

I used to be quite the Martha Stewart... Handmade, glittered, stamped, sealed-with-a-kiss Christmas cards for everyone. And none of those generic,obnoxiously bragging newsletters that so many are fond of: "Nathan scored 837 on his IQ test last month. And Hayden wrote his own piano concerto for Easter this year. We're so proud of them." Nope. They were hand written, baby! But alas, I have resorted to this form of greeting for all of my loved ones... At least the ones who check my blog. I even went one step lazier than last year, as I sent the "Elf Yourself" greeting via email last year.

So enjoy your Holiday Greeting, Van Cleave style. Notice Timmy has returned to the family, thanks to an astute and very highly regarded friend back in San Rafael. Thank you, Christine for sending him back to us. It wouldn't have been Christmas without him!

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

What Do You Mean He's Not Real?!?

"You're a LIAR!" I shouted to my mother when the truth finally came out. A dirty, rotten liar... That's how I felt when my Christmas dreams were shattered. When it came time to reveal the stinking realism to Hayden, we tried not to break his heart. Somehow, it seemed so much easier if we could just get him to sneak up on the truth on his own.

We started with the tooth fairy. We asked Hayden to tell us what he thought about her and how it works... You know, hauling teeth around all night long. His response was, "Well, she's magic! She's very little, leaves me notes under my pillow, and she LOVES teeth." Wayne and I exchanged knowing glances, which quickly degenerated to raucous laughter. "Well," Wayne said, "She's little all right... And she does love teeth..." At which point Hayden's expression flashed understanding, and he pointed to me and said, "IT'S YOOOOUUU!!!"

We worked our way through the Easter Bunny, Leprechauns, etc. before we got to the Big Guy. With each debunking of his favorite magical characters, he would say, "But Santa is real! I KNOW he is, because he eats the cookies we leave for him, and the reindeer eat all the carrots!" But when he realized Daddy was the cookie culprit, he shed a tear or two.

At least we weren't considered dirty, rotten liars.

Poor Me

No. Really, REALLY poor.

You know it's bad when you start looking around the house for things you might be able to post on Craig's list to score a little extra coin. I wonder if there is anyone out there in cyberspace who would like to buy a periodontal surgery textbook for somebody on their naughty list.

But this post is not meant to be a pity party. I've learned a lot of cool stuff from being flat broke...

Such as: when you can't afford presents, you don't have to get trampled to death by greedy shoppers. I can't go shopping right now, therefore, I get to avoid the crowds and think about what I would buy for all the people I love if I could. And that gets me thinking about why I love them. And then I get to spend my time thinking about all the really nice things people have done for our family instead of wondering if they would like the harvest spice tealight candles or the ones that smell like cucumber-peppermint-chamomile... Which they would probably end up putting in a drawer somewhere in their house, never to be lit... Or even worse: Regifted at their office white elephant gift exchange.

I also LOVE to put up my Christmas decorations. Especially my tree. It looks like a glowing snowball when it is all lit up, and it reminds me of the strange and wonderful circumstances by which we acquired it.

A few years ago, while we were living in Riverside, we all got the nastiest of flu bugs. We all felt like dying. To make matters worse, our heat was not working, and the gas company could not come out to fix it for a week. There was a ridiculous cold spell, such that we could see our breath in our own living room. And to top it off, Nathan needed to go to the doctor to get some antibiotics because he had an excruciating sore throat and fever that made me suspect strep. However, I was in no state to take him and neither was Wayne, so my mother-in-law kindly stepped in. While at the pharmacy, she called to see if we wanted a tree: Green or white. I quickly said green (as I am such a traditionalist), but was persuaded by Nathan to try the white, as he believed I would really enjoy it once I saw it. And he was quite right. We also enjoyed the heat Lynne brought along with her in the form of portable space heaters from the same drug store. I have the hardest time taking down that tree every year, because I love to bask in its soft glow every evening. And each time I do, I think of that Christmas, where we hung our ornaments clutching our barf bowls, and basking in the warmth of our little space heaters.

I've also learned how abundantly rich we are when it comes to family. Between my divorced parents and my in-laws, we have a plethora of choices as to where to spend the holidays. Granted, this has its pros and its cons. We recently got calls from both sides of our families dictating our holiday schedules: "Here's all the goings-on... Sorry you'll have so much travel time, but at least the gas prices are down... We'll have so much fun, we'll be whistling zippidy doo-dah out of our ---holes! (Sorry. It's a movie quote. Just think EARholes if you want the G-rated version.)" I first felt annoyed and a little put out by the presumptuousness (Sorry Mom and Mom, but it's true). And I thought, "Does this side of the family forget that we have that side of the family to accommodate as well? What about my own little family? When do our traditions get to happen? WHAT ABOUT ME?!?"

However, I have chosen now to look at the situation this way: "It is wonderful to know how many people want to share the Holidays with us! That's pretty cool!" While it is not likely we'll be able to make everyone happy and attend every family gathering we have been invited to, I will still enjoy spending time with some of my favorite people at the time of year when I feel most festive and joyous!

'Cause family is great. Isn't it?

The Difference Between B's and V's

I was brought up at the head of the class--Not because I was particularly brainy or gifted, but merely due to my alphabetical circumstance. You see, I was once named Shana Berger... as in second letter in the alphabet Berger... as in, "Sit at the front of the class," "Go to the front of the line" Berger. Due to my short stature, I was also shuffled forward whenever height was the determining factor in student placement. Bottom line: I took a front row seat everywhere I went.


Life placed perpetually at the front of the classroom does something to a person. Sitting in plain view of the teacher, unable to get away with passing notes, dozing off, or daydreaming; unable to mutter anything under one's breath without being heard... It all adds up to a very tightly wound student. Being a B makes one type-A by means of simple classroom logistics.


Enter Wayne Van Cleave: My V-man. I took his name almost sixteen years ago as a matter of fact and didn't have any clue how different life would ever be at this end of the alphabet.

I learned the difference between B's and V's quite plainly in dental school. Our class was set up according to alphabetical order. We spent most of our first year of dental school toiling away in the sim-lab, arranged (of course) alphabetically. The sim-lab was a gigantic room wherein we would work on little rubber heads with plastic teeth to learn the fundamentals of restorative dentistry before they would let us loose on real teeth. The room was so large, I barely got to interact with the B's during the day. I was relegated to the side of the room housed by the students at the END of the alphabet: The V's.


What I learned from my carpool that year (Ballew and Bevens, who sat at the B end of the sim-lab, but remained outliers in the following statements about said B personalities), is that the B end was quite studious and very tightly wound. They took everything super seriously, would haggle over grades, talked endlessly about dentistry, sat silently doing their work, would freak out if something went awry... You get the picture. Many of them sat at the front of the class in lecture, too, and got quite a reputation for shouting out answers and asking endless questions. Bottom line, had I remained a Berger, I would have sat around a number of stress-cases and my perception of dental school may have been completely different.

As for my experiences with the V side of the room: All I can say is PARTAY!!! Our side of the sim-lab was MUCH more relaxed. We blasted "The Final Countdown" before every practical exam, we had weekly potlucks, decorated the walls with Christmas lights, drew faces on our rubber-headed patients, and basically lived in levity and fun (That's right folks. Despite the intense pressures inherent in dental school, I liked it! It was fun!). I thanked Wayne every day for showing me life with the V's.


But tonight I sadly learned I am still a B at heart.



Hayden recently chunked it on a Social Studies exam: 25 out of a possible 100. "Dang it!" I thought. "I'm raising a V! He's living in the end-of-the-alphabet-partay, and now his grades are starting to suck!"


Today, however, he received notification from his teacher that (aside from a smattering of A's and B's) the whole class had sucked it up on that exam. Therefore, he would omit those grades for everyone in the class. He acknowledged that it was kind of a bummer for the kids that had done so well--far above and beyond the rest of the class, but thought it better for all involved to drop the test scores.

For a brief moment, my heart stopped. I stopped chewing my dinner. I tensed up, barely able to breathe. My autonomic nervous system had reverted to my B mentality, which screamed, "NO FAIR! Those kids who got A's deserved them! They worked harder than the rest of those little slackers! Reward them for their efforts!"

The rest of the V slackers at my dinner table laughed at me, and I found myself feeling guilty for dredging up emotions directly related to my front-of-the-classroom-upbringing; emotions that stood in direct opposition to the success of my child on this particular exam. But there I was in all of my raw, type-A, competitive, stress-case B-ness. I guess you could say something along the lines of, "You can take the B out of the front of the classroom, but you can't take the front of the classroom out of the B."

I'll conclude my saga from one end of the alphabet to the other with a simple footnote: Our class valedictorian's name was Yetzer. How do you like them apples, B side?!