A Comforting Stuffed Animal Experience: The Worst Christmas Ever
Hi, I've decided to start doing a series about tense or traumatic events in my life, and how my stuffed animals helped me through those tough times. I hope you guys like them. :)
During the Christmas season of my sophomore year of high school, my older stepbrothers and their kids came to visit. I love it when they all come to visit, since I love seeing my niece and nephew (they've gotten so big now! :) ) Yes, things would be just perfect when they all come to visit - except for the fact that it serves as a reminder to me that my older stepbrothers are my stepmom's "real" kids, and I can never be that to her, no matter how hard I try.
Anyway, it was Christmas Eve, and my niece and nephew were at that magical age when they believed wholeheartedly in Santa Claus. I recalled that my parents and I used to have a special tradition where we would leave Christmas cookies out for Santa, and the next morning, the cookies would all be gone, with a Post-It note that said, "Thank you" on it. I thought it would be awesome if my stepmom and I could bake up some of the Toll House Break-&-Bake cookies for this purpose. No way did I want my niece and nephew to turn out the way I had, where I stopped believing in Santa Claus as early as age 10.
However, my stepmom had other things in mind - like sitting on the couch with my father drinking a glass of wine. Now, before I continue, I should tell you a bit about the effect a single glass of wine has on my stepmother. She's really, really thin, almost to the point where it's unhealthy. She hardly eats a thing, and when she does, it's only cookies, chocolates, yogurt, and Cheez-Its, not real food. What's funny is how she's always getting on my case about my propensity for overwieght. I can't tell you how many times I've wanted to retort, "Well, it's better than being so thin that a Wild Thing sneeze could knock me over" (a little WTWTA- fan inside joke of mine, LOL).
Anyway, I digress. I apologize for that; it's just that this really isn't easy for me to talk about. Anyway, bcuz my stepmom is so thin, and has hardly any body mass, a single glass of wine can actually make her mildly drunk. With this in mind, consider what a second drink will do. To make matters worse, she never has food to eat with her glasses of wine. Solid food absorbs alcohol, but if you have a lot to drink and nothing to eat, you're kind of screwed, you know? :P
So, I approached her and my father, lounging together on the couch, and I cautiously asked when we could make the cookies for the twins. I caught my father's attention (he always finds time for me), which my stepmother resented, and she abruptly got up and strode into the kitchen. My father followed after her, and my stepmother angrily brought out a baking sheet and grabbed the package of cookie dough out of the fridge, thrust these items at me, and said, "You want to make the cookies so badly? Make them yourself!"
My father then called her out for being mean to me, and then she said, "I might as well leave right now....leave the two of you here...you're PERFECT for one another!" and then she stalked away.
So, there I was, making the cookies all by myself...doing what I hoped could have been a nice, low-key mother-daughter activity....something I thought that the two of us very seldom had together anymore. After the cookies were done, I set the wretched things out for a Santa that didn't even exist, and just stayed upstairs for the rest of the night (my father went to bed) while my stepmother had fun with my niece and nephew, and my older stepbrothers...her REAL kids :P :P We didn't even get to watch Ratatouille, like she had promised we could.
The rest of the holiday came and went without event, aside from the fact that I was nervous whenever I was around my stepmother afterward. Then one day, I noticed a sort of tense, funny feeling in my tummy. But other than that, I felt okay, so I just chalked it up to the smell of my older stepbrothers' cigarette smoke making me queasy. I was eager to get out of the house, so I could get my mind off of all the BS, so I went with my older stepbrothers and my stepmom to the mall. Once there, we all went our separate ways - my stepbrothers went to FYE, my stepmom went to JC Penny, and me - I found the most darling little candy shop right next to a Sports Memorabilia store. I'd never seen this sweet little place before, so I went in. It was amazing - candy displays and every kind of stuffed animal imaginable - bears, monkeys, Russ Yomikos, dragons, even a vulture and a bald eagle- lined the shelves and the walls.
I was so enthralled by the displays of stuffed animals that I forgot about my troubles, and the funny feeling in my stomach. But then I had to go back and meet with my stepmom and stepbrothers, and the feeling returned. Later on that night, I was feeling so bad I couldn't eat any dinner, and then I began vomiting about a half hour later. What was weird when I began vomiting was that right then, my stepmom was standing above me, practically waxing June Cleaver, saying, "Oh, dear...are you all right? You must have a virus."
This is what I like about stuffed animals - they're always the same. You never have to worry that they'll be nice one day and mean the next. You can always depend on them, unlike people. For me, my stuffed animals were - and still are - the pets, the friends, the surrogate family I never felt I really had.