It all started on a warm and muggy Florida day a month prior to the Christmas of 1998. To everyone in my family, except myself, it seemed to be a normal, ritualistic, cesspool of tradition and boredom but that year was going to be different for me because I had devised a plan to make my Mom think she was going insane and it was going to be a drawn out, enjoyable event, at least for me.
The day after Thanksgiving of each year, my Mom habitually unpacks her collections of Christmas decor and strategically redecorates the house to simulate the set of A Christmas Story, minus the leg lamp.
She hangs sparkling garland over the doorways, places snow globes on the end tables, puts Santa statues on the bookshelves, and replaces her everyday cookie jar and salt and pepper shakers with a more festive versions.
She has done the same thing, with the same decorations, every year since we moved into our house in 1992. It was this fact that made me so sure that it would mess with her head if things were suddenly misplaced and it would surely amuse the heck out of me to see her face when she noticed that the mistletoe was hung in the shower stall.
Each day I would carry out my genius plan to break up the holiday monotony. First, I kidnapped the porcelain Mrs.Clause from her perch next to Santa and placed her carefully under my bed. Then I hijacked Frosty The Snowman's top hat, which also served as the lid to a cookie jar, and hid it in my closet along with one of four reindeer place mats and several sentimental tree ornaments.
Her reactions were priceless as she discovered some of her beloved possessions had gone AWOL. To my surprise, my Mom immediately confronted me with the issue but I just played it cool while enjoying the confusion in her gaze.
It was a truly exciting and memorable time for me. Every day for a month I woke up looking forward to her random, sporadic, discoveries and statements, like, "I could have sworn that I hung my brass reindeer ornament in the front of the tree this year and where the heck is the top to the darn cookie jar?"
She continued to express her paranoia and confusion in ways that entertained me way more than they should have. On a few occasions she asked me if I thought she was going crazy or just getting old. She even went so far as snooping through my bedroom hoping to find evidence of my evil plan, but, by that time, I had already put the loot in various boxes and bags, wrapped them with poinsettia wrapping paper, labeled them To: Mom, Love: Jesus and placed them under the Christmas tree.
On Christmas morning, I waited until all of the presents had been exchanged and opened before I gave my Mom her gifts. Her expressions as she opened each package were ones of disbelief and annoyance. She ended up being quite amused, but only after she uttered her relief that she wasn't losing her mind. I redeemed myself by handing her a long envelope containing a gift certificate for a day at the spa. I figured she needed a little pampering after the stressful and confusing month she had suffered through.
I didn't feel too bad for playing such a cruel prank on my own Mom because I knew I had given my family the gift of an unexpected laugh that they could enjoy for years to come. Besides, I'm sure everyone was just relieved that I decided not to wrap the dog that year.
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