christmas present angst

Being the Christmas season is upon us, I've been going through my lists of ideas for Christmas gifts for the masses. One mass in particular--Child.

Since the Stupid Living Rocks (hermit crabs) have defied all expectations and survived, and still, I have no idea how, I've been mulling moving Child up the food chain and getting him a higher maintenance pet.

Excerpt from car convo the other day.

Mom: Chameleon

Me: No.

Mom: Why?

Me: Reptile. If I'm going to be chasing it around the living room after escaping, and I *will* be, it's going to be something that doesn't see me standing on top of the table crying for my mommy.

Mom: Turtle?

Me: Reptile with a shell. Table.

Mom: You want to go back to invertebraes?

Me: Let's think mammal.

Mom: Gerbil.

Me: That's a rat. Me on table. No.

Mom: It's not a rat.

Me: It's a small, pretty rat. That doesn't make it any less a rat.

Mom: How about a guinea pig?

Me: Bigger, prettier, smarter rat. No.

Mom: It's not a rat.

Me: It'll get out and organize the mice into rebellion against me and I'll end up besieged on the table. I've read about this. Not happening.

Mom: Uh huh. What are you thinking about?

Me: Iguana.

Mom: Giant reptile?

Me: They're cute.

Mom: What else?

Me: Ferret, maybe.

Mom: Long, slinky rat.

Me: I like rabbits.

Mom: Big, pretty rats with long ears?

Me: The ears make it okay.

I think these are those moments Mom wonders if her real child was taken by gremlins and replaced with me.

But I have reason for my rat-thing.

Many, Many Moons ago, when I was--a lot like I am now, but I hadn't seen The Ring yet, so I was willing ot make tentative forays into dark territory with a flashlight to get a glass of water--there was a Big Thing in the middle of the hall. It was huge, and dark, and it was on the floor. Of course, my first instinct was to assume it was an alien out to dissect me, or an evil animal from Pet Sematary, so like any unhinged young girl, I screamed the house down.

The Thing turned out to be a rat the size of a small dog, dying inconsiderately in the middle of the floor where I could see it. Not God, man, or promises of good anecdotal material later could move me, and no one else in the family could make themselves go anywhere near it. It could still be there to this day, long, long, long earthworm tail and all, except someone managed to find a shovel and get rid of it.

So. Trauma.

(brief real time moment: child is outside in last year's too-small summer shorts, no shirt, no shoes, and his winter coat. I am amusing myself with imagining the neighbors critiquing my parenting skills.)



Dad's tricky, as he likes nothing he doesn't buy himself. I try to stay with pajamas and robes, but even that's kind of a risk. I've been trolling Amazon, looking for the Beatles and the Eagles, since I know that he likes them. Maybe a portable CD player, except I don't think he'd ever use it. Grrr. I almost feel like gift certificating him, but I've managed to avoid that in my Christmases so far.

Mom's easy, sisters are easy, Niece is a snap, and my friends should be relatively easy. Just Dad and Child freaking me out muchly. To make life easier for everyone at home, I asked for plain, drawstring, plaid flannel jammies.

I'll point out I've asked for this for three years and nothing's come of it. This is an adventure.

I bought and fell in love with this one set of pajamas I picked up on sale years ago. Wonderful, soft flannel, blue and white plaid, drawstring, extra large. They *fit*. They fit my legs, my arms, and they were so soft and it was an effort to pry myself out of them. I went weekends melded into them. I wrote an entire series of stories in them. But let's not think about that one.

They've suffered a lot since then. I tore out the entire back, sewed it up by hand, tore it out again, and kept wearing them with tights underneath until they just plain wore out. I've shown them to everyone every year, Christmas and Birthday. These. Get them at Wal-Mart, get them at Versace, I don't *care*. Just like this. And they're a pretty simple design, nothing odd.

So far, nothing. I got some rather dressy grey ones I use when I go places and want to look nice in my pajamas (one word on this one and I'll unfriend you, I swear), some flannel ones that are cream covered with coffee pots and adorable and a size too small (I've never told, I just wear a robe when people see me so they don't guess) and a pair of very vivid green satiny ones that I only wear in a pinch. But the blue plaid (at this point, I'll take any damn plaid, just get the design and size right) have yet to make an appearance. It's like karma. My One True Jammies are lost in the ether. It's rather sad.

I haven't given up hope. This is on my Jenn Didn't Get the Job List. Three hundred dollars in DVDs and one pair of extra large flannel jammies. Oh yeah. I'm an ambitious chick.

Come to think, I should check Amazon out on this score. It's only a month until January. I could totally start at least updating what I want so I can all have it shipped to me at once for wallowing.

This makes me happy. Stupid job. I don't need that job. I'll have jammies and DVDs!

For those who use Amazon regularly--is there anyplace to store the things you want to buy other people? Like a Gifts For Others sort of thing? I keep having to click around during my Beatles search and it's giving me headaches.

Anyway. Carry on. I am going to go catch up on Austria, since I've been a bad, bad patriot and not read very much of anything the LJQaF group has written. Sulking is sooooo boring.

Comments

[fyrdrakken]

Bunnies are litterbox-trainable, a definite point in their favor.

Regarding the Amazon wishlist, I'd probably wind up saving it to my own wishlist and on the notes/comments line say, "This is for [whomever]" -- though that only works for folks you know won't be looking at your Amazon wishlist so the surprise won't be ruined.

Sucks about your family being contrary -- mine is pretty good about asking what you want and then buying it for you (Mom got my sister and I in the habit of making itemized lists with the things we especially wanted indicated), though sometimes there were problems with them trying to be creative. My mother gave me houseshoes of various designs three Xmases in a row until I finally got her to understand that I don't go around barefoot because I don't have any slippers, I go around barefoot because I hate wearing shoes. And it took years to train Grandma out of trying to pick gifts for us because her taste is atrocious (one of those people who buys what she thinks you should have, not what you actually want) -- Mom used to oversee the gifts she got us and veto the worst ones when we were little, but eventually we got her to either have us circle something in a catalog or else just give out money...

[seperis.livejournal.com]

Regarding the Amazon wishlist, I'd probably wind up saving it to my own wishlist and on the notes/comments line say, "This is for [whomever]" -- though that only works for folks you know won't be looking at your Amazon wishlist so the surprise won't be ruined.

Heh. No one sees my wishlist except me. I'm not sure my family even knows they exist. *g*

My mother gave me houseshoes of various designs three Xmases in a row until I finally got her to understand that I don't go around barefoot because I don't have any slippers,

Yes and yes. My grandmother does that. I have yet to convince anyone that there's a connection between my preferences and the fact that I only wear shoes when I'm leaving the house.

Heh. I like the way your Mom thinks. *grins*

[fyrdrakken]

Heh. No one sees my wishlist except me. I'm not sure my family even knows they exist. *g*

I started to e-mail Mom my wishlist address, and then took another look and was forcibly reminded that the list is half "things I want when I have the cash to spare" and half "things I might decide I want later on, and want to remember to ponder." So I told her to ignore the wishlist and just get me the Neverwhere DVD.

Heh. I like the way your Mom thinks. *grins*

What, regarding the repeated unwanted gifts of houseshoes, or regarding the way she made sure Grandma didn't make any hideous gift decisions -- rather memorably the year that Cabbage Patch Kids were the "in" thing. I loathed them and didn't want one, Grandma stood in line for hours to get me one, and Mom insisted that Grandma at the very least exchange the boy doll she'd gotten me for a little girl. Meanwhile, my sister, who was dying to get one, pouted when I unwrapped one that Xmas Eve and she didn't get one till her birthday (or was it the next Xmas that she finally got hers?). And of course, as it turned out, I kept Callie Felicity for years and years...