What Would Baby Jesus Do? Sin and Salvation at the Ornament Exchange

CHUCKLE #388 | December 23, 2009
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Shake off those warm feelings of holiday friendship and start sharpening your fingernails - its time for the annual holiday ornament exchange! So you thought you and Suzy were friends? Wait till you both covet the same hokey glass ornament. If you want to find out what friendship REALLY means, just watch what happens when 40 women get together, ostensibly to have some fun and relieve holiday induced stress. Its “World Wrestling Federation” meets “Santa’s Workshop,” strung out on Midori cosmos.

That vixen Suzy would steal your prized hand painted glass ball, and leave you crying over the hideous Odd Job “sparkly star” in a heartbeat. In return, you wouldn’t think twice about crushing her holiday hopes like a bug. (FYI, no men allowed at this Christmas catfight unless they are stoking the fire or serving drinks.) But if the ornament exchange is so vicious, why oh why is it our favorite holiday event of the ENTIRE YEAR?

Honestly? It’s because cookie exchanges are so dull. Everybody gets a dozen cookies, period, end of party. Where’s the fun in that? There’s none of the stealing, hoarding, and back stabbing that goes on at a proper ornament exchange, if you do it right that is. Civilized “exchanges” have earned their stolid little place in the world of womanly holiday events, but they lack the EXCITEMENT of hand to hand combat. I prefer exchanges where there’s a strong chance that two lifelong friends will end up wrestling on the rug in front of the fire, pulling each others hair and yelling, “its MINE you selfish hussy!” Now THAT’S a holiday party!

Hosting an ornament exchange? To ensure an exciting evening of “stress relief” (and to guarantee a sacred place on everyone’s busy holiday calendar each year), host your ornament exchange in the evening, when festive (read alcoholic) beverages can be served. (Wholesome cookie exchanges are almost always held during the day - ergo no alcohol and very few, if any, catfights.) Although it’s certainly nice to bring home that platter of assorted cookies, it’s MUCH better to bring home the most coveted Christmas ornament, for which you had to lie, cheat and steal. (And occasionally bite, but what happened in ’06, stays in ’06.) We’ve all matured a lot since then. And the new “no blood” ruling by the executive ornament party committee has helped a lot.

Unfortunately, a woman’s true nature is hard to hide after three glasses of perfectly chilled Prosecco. Some are simply possessive, some are outright Jezebels; some come seeking revenge for the insults and injuries suffered in previous years. Given the holiday season, I think it would behoove some of these ladies, before they get carried away by greed and desire, to ask each other not what Genghis Khan would do, but rather, “What would baby Jesus do”?

But that kind of thinking assumes we all seek the “best of all possible worlds” and I never really put much stock in Leibniz. If we’re talking “nature of man” and theology, I’m more of a Voltairian. Therefore, if you come to an ornament exchange party unprepared, you may as well not come at all. Because if you hope to come home with a decent ornament, you need to spend some time strategizing beforehand. It helps if you’ve been a car salesman at some point in your life, because it all comes down to how EVIL you are willing to be. Having grudges and scores to settle always helps to get your MOJO on, so try to recall EVERY slight, no matter how minor. Make a “naughty vs. nice” list if it helps you harden your heart, that’s how Santa does it.

For best results, call a few other women before the party and establish an ornament cabal. That makes it easier to isolate and neutralize the “loners” who neglect to plan ahead (due to previous commitments such as child rearing or delivering meals to the poor.) Be sure to take advantage of women “new” to the ornament exchange party (aka O.E.P. virgins) before they wise-up to the shenanigans. Alternatively you could take the newbie under your wing and teach her the ropes, but what would that get you? It would get you the ugly ODD JOB ornament! So stop thinking “nice.” This party is about letting off some steam with your friends before the in-laws arrive and all holiday hell breaks loose.

Personally, I tend to keep my cool at the ornament exchange. My only goal is to avoid seeing the ornament I brought sitting on the infamous “reject table” at the end of the night. In this I have failed for five consecutive years and 2009 was no different. A friend finally took pity on me (I guess my “tears” had the desired effect), and she traded her “nice” ornament for my “rejected” one. So she went home with a heavy (yet sonorous) Santa shaped ceramic bell of Norwegian origin. Santa was mysteriously clasping an owl, which must be a Norwegian thing; probably one of those folktales with which we Americans, well-known for not giving a hoot about Norwegian customs, are unfamiliar. Whatever. Better her than me. I may feel a tiny TWINGE of guilt for playing on her emotions, but at least she went home feeling good about herself, which is more than I can say for SOME of the ladies in attendance! Can you say “confession”?

Most years I end up taking my own ornament home simply because no one else wants to. Its not that my ornaments are UGLY, (ok, sometimes they are), they’re just at the wrong party. I consistently fail to grasp what it is that fashion conscious Greenwich CT moms are looking for in an ornament. Perhaps coming from New Hampshire, my ornaments and I just don’t fit in here. Perhaps I am too cheap to buy the hand painted Waterford glass ball that my fellow moms are willing to take home. Perhaps it could be that my heart is “two sizes too small”. I’d like to think that I actually have taste, but lack sufficient wherewithal (e.g. cash) to fully realize my ornament exchange potential. Or maybe I’m just having too much fun, reject table and all, to really care. After all, it’s not what you bring to the party; it’s what you bring HOME. And this year I brought home a lovely set of six silver photo frame ornaments, along with a little bit of guilt.

So Happy Holidays to all and to all a Good Night, especially to my kindhearted ornament party “Saviour”! I hope “Norwegian Santa” is hanging in a very special place on your tree. Baby Jesus would definitely be proud.

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Is Rice a Super Food? Or is it Super Glue?

CHUCKLE #387 | December 16th, 2009
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Let’s set the record straight. I am NOT one of those women who must wash the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. That is why I have a dishwasher. But I totally understand where those people are coming from. And by “those people” I mean women, because men don’t rinse. (The male “code” forbids it.) As a kid I had a KitchenAid dishwasher that could only get dishes clean if they were first scrubbed with a Brillo Pad. Guess who scrubbed? So if you are still suffering with technology from 1975, go ahead and wash first. I support you.

If you have a “real” dishwasher, (as in one made within the last 10 years), and you are still “washing first,” you are crazy. The dishwasher is exactly that – and very aptly named. So stop washing. Simply have your kids scrape bones and large unsightly piles of food off their plates. Leave bits, smears and crumbs. Really, it will all disappear. Take deep breaths and let it go. Let’s practice together, ohhmm….ohhmmm…ohm…

However, in the interest of full disclosure, I'd like to point out that the modern dishwasher cannot consume all foods. There is one major exception. RICE.

Rice is a Super Food. If you leave ONE grain of rice on a plate before putting it in your dishwasher, I guarantee that it will become fused to your dishware for life. (Or at least until you break every fingernail trying to pry it off.) You can also try soaking the plate for DAYS – then putting it back in your dishwasher. But I’ll save you some time and tell you right now that it won’t work. If rice sticks to peoples ribs half as well as it sticks to the plates in my dishwasher, then it’s no wonder rice feeds ¾ of the world’s population.

I bought a BOSCH dishwasher (despite its ludicrous cost) because I thought that European efficiency would keep me from having to rinse rice off my plates. The manly Bosch heats water to 450 degrees, it is whisper quiet, and its “normal” cycle runs for 3 hours. (On the earth friendly side, it uses very little water.) Still, it can’t clean rice for beans. Then I started to think about all that rice still stuck on my plates and how it could probably feed a family of 5 in Indonesia for a day. Not to mention the beans.

Hand washing is the best way to deal with rice residue. It’s what we all used to do as kids, BEFORE our parents upgraded to dishwashers. And it’s what most people who primarily subsist on rice still do, though not necessarily by choice. Not only do these families wash their dishes by hand, but they generally have to carry their water through a war zone from the communal well two miles away. Which does NOT lead to the comparatively inane question of how to keep rice from sticking to our plates, but rather to the question of how to redistribute rice the rice we have.

And you thought this column was about obsessive-compulsive plate rinsing!

Here are some holiday "redistribution" ideas for helping women and children this season…

http://www.freerice.com/
Awesome FREE website for kids. Build vocabulary, donate rice.
http://www.kiva.org/
Microloan borrower/lender matching site. Choose your recipient. One of my favorites.
http://www.microplace.com/
Microloan as an investment. Ebay sponsored nonprofit.
http://www.namaste-direct.org/
Supports women in South America.
http://www.grameenfoundation.org/
Microfinance and technology defeating global poverty.

They say that “Charity begins at Home”. There are hungry people in your town, I guarantee it. Find your local food pantry and make a donation. That’s where I’ll be starting my holiday giving this year.

Happy holidays to you and your family!
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Hey, it's FREEZING! Time to Get the Christmas Tree.

Chuckle #386 | December 9th, 2009
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We moms are leaders of the free world, keepers’ of the family faith, rules and checkbook. As such, one of our most important jobs is to maintain TRADITIONS. Even traditions that we didn’t start, and frankly don’t care that much about, such as Looking for the Ground Hog on Ground Hog Day; or making Great Granny’s So Nasty I Could Spit Liver Stuffing on Thanksgiving. We keep Traditions that sometimes seem, even to us, more like work than joy. But TRADITION is the glue that holds the family together, so at Christmas many of us moms suck it up, gather the family, and head to the local Tree Farm. We call this tradition Getting the Tree.

Hacking down an evergreen together while enduring severe weather conditions makes for the warmest of family memories. (Or goriest, if you don’t keep the saw away from the toddlers.) Thousands of families have the same tradition…I can tell that from the crowds. Some of them even tailgate, but those people are clearly insane. Really, it’s not that much fun to eat outside wearing snow pants and a ski mask. I also find it very difficult to pick up the pigs in a blanket with gloves on, so WE choose to eat inside. At a restaurant… like normal people. Luckily we established THAT tradition early on, or even I wouldn’t be going to get the tree.

Traditions must sometimes be forced on kids for their own good. Otherwise they could end up having no fond memories of “family togetherness” and an unstable family life as an adult. This lowers your chance of having grandkids, which is the PAYOFF for going to the trouble of raising your own children. So don’t risk it. Make them participate.

After age 6, kids would much rather be lying on the couch reading a book than hanging out with their (lame) parents. They often complain about participating in family events. But don’t be fooled. They may grumble when you wake them up early to avoid the crowds, but once they are on the road, sullen, sleepy and silent children eventually perk up enough to say things like “I can’t believe you’re making us do this when it’s 10 below”, or my personal favorite, “I think this may be child abuse”. (Which actually means “I love you mom” in Preteen.)  Don’t worry. Eventually they accept their fate. You probably won’t get “ecstatic”, but you'll be able to tolerate their presence.

I’m not quite sure how a child’s brain works, but while they often complain about “doing the tradition,” 5 years later they’ll tell you that “Getting the Tree” was the best memory of their young lives. I’ve heard it said. So DON’T back off, no matter how cold or inconvenient it is. Make everyone go to the farm. Sometimes this part of our job is about as much fun as getting a series of rabies shots, but in the long run it’s worth it. Maintaining traditions isn’t always about TODAY. Keep thinking of those future grandkids…

That doesn’t mean you can’t be flexible. Don’t insist on your “tradition” following a strict regime or schedule. The time spent choosing the tree should have a direct correlation to the outdoor temperature. If it’s 10 degrees, getting the tree should take 10 minutes. It doesn’t matter that it took you 40 minutes to GET to the Tree Farm, and another 30 to suit up in snow pants and cold weather gear. Grab a tree and GO. No one CARES what the tree looks like when they can’t feel their toes. Arctic weather equals UGLY tree. Just use more lights. Create enough glare and no one will notice.

Once you’ve chosen the tree, and after you’ve come within the “traditional” hairs breath of divorce over the “right” way to tie it onto the roof while your husband’s fingers go numb (because he didn’t bring GLOVES, but how many times can you say that to a man before you find yourself raising three kids on your own?) you can finally EAT. For us, the stop at the Greasy Spoon (Bills Diner) is the REAL highlight of the event. Fries and Shakes are de rigueur after you’ve just shivered off about 800 calories. And don’t put any limit on what the kids can order. Reward them. They’ve just heroically endured one of the best moments of their lives for goodness sake.
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Man vs. Acorn: the Mutant Squirrel Solution

Chuckle #385 | December 2nd, 2009
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Everywhere I look, men are losing it. (And I’m not talking about their hair.) A cosmic convergence of acid rain, heat, magnetic fields and the cavalier overuse of Scott’s fertilizer has resulted in a bumper crop of acorns this year. Men are naturally prone to obsessive behavior when it comes to their lawns. But with the exception of his WIFE, nothing drives a man crazier than a few million acorns imbedded in an otherwise pristine lawn.

In the male world, there is no such thing as a GOOD acorn; there are just little acorns and big acorns. When people say “That acorn (or apple) didn’t fall far from the tree” they aren’t being complimentary, they are referring to some deviant trait of yours that they see reflected in your children. At this very moment, A.C.O.R.N, the community activist group is under indictment. Given man’s universal hatred of this nut, I predict that “ACORN” will soon earn its props as a bona fide SWEAR WORD in the dictionary of slang. Listen for it in future Jay-Z lyrics.

“Little” acorns are dime size nuts that imbed themselves in your lawn and cannot be raked or blown but must be individually pried out with an ice pick. OR, as my husband discovered last weekend; VACCUMED with an 8HP shop vac and a demonic look of joy. Compulsive? Psychotic even? Yes. But it made my husband happy, and who am I to define “happy”? (Or for that matter, “nutcase”.) I did ask the kids to watch their dad closely for additional signs of madness. If he began to drool or speak in tongues, they were to let me know.

Little acorns bounce off your car leaving little visible damage. “BIG” acorns, (the golf ball sized ones) leave dents and significantly lower the value of your car. Luckily I have tiny acorns. (They don’t damage the car, but they do make playing basketball in the driveway a challenge.) One of our neighbors suffers from monster acorns. If you happen to look UP while walking past their house, you could easily lose an eye. Needless to say, they park in their garage and their kids wear helmets when playing in the yard. I wonder, is possible maiming by acorn something you need to disclose when selling your house?

So what’s a man to do when faced with an epic acorn challenge? What would Homer do? For a modern man, the first inclination is to get out the chain saw and take care of business. But cutting down a tree in these days of Global Warming is NOT politically correct, even if said tree has blinded several neighborhood children and destroyed the paint job on your new Vespa. As always, my husband thinks a new tool would solve his problems. My more intellectually advanced solution is to breed a genetically enhanced mutant squirrel that can consume 18 times its weight in acorns. Unfortunately, as far as BANES to lawn care go, most men put squirrels right up there with acorns. So much for my clever idea. Alternatively, I could breed a mutant husband who doesn’t care so much about his lawn. It’s something to think about.

And there’s more bad news on the way. Given the laws of supply and demand, an excess of fall acorns predicts a bumper crop of spring squirrels. These new squirrels will then dig little holes all over the lawn while our husbands yell profanities at them, like “get off my lawn, you freaking ACORN!” (Which won't  bother the squirrels but will scare the pants off the children.)

Squirrels are inconsiderate. When they dig up their nuts, they don’t bother to fill in the holes. And you KNOW that it won’t take long for the dandelion infestation plaguing your neighbor to tap into your lawn’s weakness.

Looking on the bright side (from a woman’s perspective), this Christmas I have TWO great presents I can get my hubby: a new super powered shop vac/blower/mulcher AND a BB gun. Nothing like a ping on the butt to drive the resident squirrels over to safer “turf.” Preferably toward the neighbor harboring the dandelions.
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