Hang onto your pumpkins, boils and ghouls, because today I'm about to do the unthinkable:
Today I'm going to share with you the story of a Christmas memory!
If you know me at all, you know that I have extremely vivid memories of just about every Halloween I've ever experienced. I could probably, if I put my mind to it, remember every thought I've ever had about Halloween, in vivid detail. However, even despite the fact that I actually did love it at one point, this is not the case when it comes to Christmas.
I remember the feeling of my childhood Christmases. I remember traditions and that childhood excitement. I remember how the day felt, how the decorations looked, the feeling of believing in Santa and the emptiness of that belief going away. But, for the most part, I really don't remember specifics. There's nothing about any one particular day or year that stands out to me.
Except for one thing. My only vivid, and in my eyes, very amusing, childhood Christmas memory.
I figured, why not share it, since people seem to enjoy my Halloween nostalgia stories so much? I do get a kick out of this story, maybe someone else will too.
The year was 2000. I had recently turned thirteen. I had dressed up as Dorothy from The Wizard Of Oz that year for Halloween and carried a stuffed animal of Scamp from Lady & The Tramp as my Toto, because I couldn't find the official Toto plush my grandfather had bought me a few years prior. My father also had knee surgery that Halloween afternoon and my mother almost didn't make it home in time for me to get my costume out of the house, and I almost wound up having to wear my neighbor's adult plus-size cow costume, filled with pillows to make it fit. None of this is really relevant to the Christmas story but I thought it was worth a mention for the sake of staying on-brand and also as proof that I remember Halloween more vividly than anything else.
Anyway. This was my second year of officially no longer believing in Santa Claus. Christmas time came around and I felt that pang of disappointment at the beginning of the season, as I remembered the truth about Santa's existence, or lack thereof. It was hard to get excited in the same way.
At least, until I found a gift to ask for, to get excited about.
This came in the form of a doll, of Cindy Lou Who, from the live-action version of How The Grinch Stole Christmas, which was being released that year. Maybe it was an odd thing for a thirteen-year-old to want, but I was always a doll collector, well into my adult years. I only really officially "left the hobby" around the time I turned thirty, but even now, I still will occasionally buy a doll here or there.
I'm not sure what it was about a Cindy Lou Who doll, specifically, that spoke to me so much. It's not like I was some uber-fan of the original Grinch cartoon; it was one of those things I watched maybe once a year if I happened to catch its yearly airing. I never owned a copy of it and never cared to. But for some reason, I was taken with the dolls of live-action character. I suppose I just found them unique, with their funky hairstyles and outfits, and thought the face mold, made to look like Taylor Momsen, whose band, The Pretty Reckless, I really enjoy now as an adult, was cute. But whatever it was, Miss Cindy Lou Who revived my Christmas spirit, and was all I could think about throughout the month of December.
At some point, I figured out that my parents had to order the doll online. (My mother may actually have told me...I initially wanted the version in pink pajamas the most, but the only one she was able to find was the one in the Christmas outfit with a red cape.) Once I knew the doll was most likely in the house, I started wondering why I couldn't just have it. I knew I'd be getting other things for Christmas too; it's not like one doll not being under the tree that morning was going to make some colossal difference. I asked, probably begged, even, a few times, and was always told no, even after offering to pay for the doll out of my allowance or with Christmas money I received in the mail from other relatives. I truly didn't get it, as to what was so important about waiting until Christmas Day. Looking back on it, this was probably the very beginning of my calendar-defiant ways, as I questioned what difference it would really make, to receive a doll on, say, the 15th of December as opposed to the 25th, since I knew it wasn't coming from Santa Claus anyway. This is probably the exact moment I began to stop seeing the point of doing things as a calendar dictated.
And oh, did things get worse one weekend when my aunt decided to take me to actually see the movie. I've always had a way of getting attached to fictional characters, and actually seeing Cindy Lou onscreen and loving her character, only made me want the doll even more. When I got home that day, I wound up having what was probably one of the most explosive arguments I ever had with my parents, over how stupid it was that they just wouldn't give me the doll. It was odd, because usually when my father would get involved in an argument that happened between my mother and I, I would very quickly back down, as he was the enforcer. Arguing with my father, about anything, was literally asking to be punished, but for some reason, a Cindy Lou Who doll was the hill my thirteen-year-old ass was prepared to die on. We fought all through dinner that night, complete with table-banging and underage profanities. The fact that I even got the doll at all after that, Christmas Day or otherwise, still astounds me. But, I'm fairly certain, after that night, for however many remaining days there were until Christmas, my father actually drove around with the doll in his work truck, so I wouldn't even be able to go looking for it in the house. I also remember my mother saying she wished she'd waited until the summer before high school to tell me the truth about Santa for sure.
I passed the time between that epic fight and Christmas by making up riddles as to where Cindy Lou might be if she were hidden somewhere in the house. Every day I made up a new one, but the only one I remember is "A household appliance is where she'll be reached, but please take her out, or she will be bleached!" (She was never actually in the washing machine, but it made for a good rhyme.) I also would tell my mother, every time she asked me to do something, that I'd do it only if she gave me Cindy Lou, but at this point, it was now just a goofy joke. I guess the fight involving my father snapped me back to reality about how ridiculous I was being, but deep down I did still wish I could just have the doll.
Anyway, Christmas morning came and there she was, kind of the centerpiece under the Christmas tree. My mother joked that she was going to take pictures of every angle of my face once I saw her, but she didn't. I remember tucking her away in my room once guests started coming over, as I was very worried something would happen to her, and, despite Christmas being over, when I took her out of the box, I added her to the little display in my room, with this wooden Christmas tree I had for several years.
For all my memories of how badly I wanted that doll, I actually have very few memories of actually having her in my possession. I know she stayed out on display in my room for awhile...I believe she was one of the toys I talked to out loud if I'd had a bad day at school or something. I probably watched the movie with her by my side once it came out on VHS, but I have no specific memories of anything else I may have done with her. I don't remember when the novelty wore off and I eventually put her away, either. I just know I found her in a bin we were going through after Hurricane Sandy, and my mother and I both burst out laughing, remembering that crazy Christmas season back in the year 2000. She insisted I had to keep the doll, and I know I still do have it somewhere in my storage unit. I did do a photoshoot with her around Christmas the next year, too:
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