Hard to believe, but on rare occasions, my ideas may sometimes be a tad irrational, unrealistic, outlandish, or improbable.
*Silence as the reader comes to grips with this shocking revelation*
"Don't worry," colleagues once assured each other, "there's no way she can arrange for an actual airplane for our four-minute vocabulary video."
"Who floats an over-ripe watermelon down a river to film it exploding over a waterfall?" a friend wondered dubiously.
"She did NOT help convince the entire elementary staff to film a choreographed Zumba video based on one dumb remark muttered during a professional development seminar!"
"Wait. She was dressed as a...what?!?! (insert infinite possibilities here: An owl. Marilyn Monroe. A lion. A twerking bumblebee. Elvis. A roll of toilet paper)"
I was hurt, devastated, outraged and a little impressed to learn that my grade level team had gone underground to rein in or even try to thwart the inevitable and unreasonable workload and emotional cost that accompanies my enthusiastic creative outbursts.
But there are times, when the only person I really hurt is myself.
I never did Advent calendars...either growing up or while my girls were growing up. But when they moved away (Some contend that they ran away), I stumbled onto Advent calendars as a way to connect us during the days leading us to Christmas. Little tchotchkes that my daughters could receive over the course of 24 days, reminding them that their parents love them and were thinking of them. Sweet.
But, we're Mosimans. So it somehow became competitive.
And I'm Amy Mosiman. So it became time-consuming and ridiculous.
It started with bible trivia. Sprinkled in some Hanukkah with the arrival of Lisa. Ventured into holiday music and movies. Added games and puzzles.
"What are you going to do for Advent this year?" a family member asked and I spiraled. I couldn't do it. I had nothing left.
But then I stumbled onto an Advent Escape Room BOOK!
This was AMAZING!
It would harken back to the days where I spent HOURS reading to my children. Savannah, still a fan of Survivor, would immediately rise to the puzzled challenge following each chapter. Like Douglas's fantasy football, it would bond us further as a family.
I bought a copy of the book for each family.
I presented the idea to my daughters when they came home for Thanksgiving.
Let's just say that someone forgot to attend the pre-Mom meeting.
"A book?" They looked at it like it was going to bite them.
"We have to read a book for Advent?" It wasn't A Tale of Two Cities, for goodness sake. And this was certainly NOT turning out like the best of times. And did they miss the part where I was going to read it TO them?
My idea was not being received well so I did what any stable, rational person would do: I threw the book away. I'm really not one to over-react.
"Remember when we were fighting over our clothes and you destroyed our underwear in a bonfire?"
"Remember when you were afraid that you were reading too many romances so you ran over your Kindle with the truck...twice?"
I am still not sure what the problem was...I was doing all the work.
"Wait...I'm going to have to film all of these?!?" my husband cut in (after digging the book out of the trash and calling an emergency secret "Mom" meeting). Seriously...three-to-four minutes each day TOPS of pointing the camera at me?!? I punished him by only letting him actually film about six of them.
"It was torture," he admitted.
No. Torture was editing. Torture was factoring in three time zones. Torture was realizing that I was too stupid to figure out a lot of the puzzles.
Every day, I filmed a segment. Created a trailer. Solved each puzzle myself and presented a short-cut for my not-so-enthusiastic-but-pretending-to-be participants either as a still photograph or another video. Only a few days in, I hit a wall. A puzzle about electric fuses that I couldn't figure out despite the answer key. I went to my friend Eric for help.
Yeah. "Help."
Eric patiently described the solution to me in detail.
I still didn't get it.
So, my "guest star" segments began.
My friend Katriel sensed something was up and soon became my camera-person AND possibly the only person involved in this ridiculous fiasco who actually enjoyed the puzzles. She earned a spot as a reoccurring guest star (Anyone out there remember Charo from
The Love Boat?) because I would just get flummoxed with some of those darn challenges. Katriel would just curl up like a kitten in one of my classroom chairs and happily solve away.
At one point, I stomped up to the second floor to garner the assistance of my high school bff Tom who pretends to not want to be involved in any of my nonsense but secretly loves it. "What will it take to get you out of my classroom?" he growled unhappily as I chased after him, flapping my book. I gave him unnecessarily complicated stage directions (The man was born for the theater.) and we filmed a flawlessly perfect scene. "Great," he said curtly, "Get out."
"Uh-oh."
Tom glared at me. He had some sort of chemistry activity to set up...I think it was BINGO. "What?"
I chuckled. "Silly me. I forgot to hit record. No worries. We'll just consider that first one a rehearsal."
As Providence would have it, our friend Jeff walked in (presumably, to rescue Tom). Unlike my high school bestie, Jeff is kind, patient and accommodating. He is also truthful so he couldn't lie on the witness stand when the judge asked whether Tom was the one who killed me. Jeff scored a cameo in the second video which, again, was executed flawlessly.
Speaking of besties, one of Savannah's dear friends from high school had recently started working in my building so I snagged her as a surprise guest. Imagine Savannah's surprise when Brittney called her the next day to ask how she liked it and Savannah had NO IDEA what she was talking about...confirming what I had suspected ALL ALONG. NO ONE WAS WATCHING THESE STUPID VIDEOS!!!!
"Of course they're watching them," my husband assured me, "How else could they be solving the puzzles?"
"They're CHEATING," I told him bluntly.
"I watched you rip out the answer keys from their books," he protested.
"There is a QR code at the end of each chapter that provides hints and answers," I explained.
"No!" he gasped, "Savannah said it just gave hints."
"She is a LIAR," I bellowed.
"I'm polar-bearing the next chapter," I told Brad.
"No, don't do it," he begged, "It'll tear the family apart."
Polar-bearing was a well-known and devious tradition during Savannah's high school days where students would insert a random paragraph about polar bears in the middle of an assigned essay because everyone knew that that particular teacher never read them.
So, in the middle of the next chapter, I veered seamlessly into The Three Billy Goats Gruff. "Who's that trip-trapping over my bridge?" roared the Troll. "Oh, it is only I, wee little Billy Goat Gruff, wondering why no one is appreciating that their mother is expending a lot of time, energy, and effort to make this Advent special and you all are a bunch of poos."
Of course, a secret, emergency-Mom meeting had been called to thwart my diabolical plan.
This had been a terrible mistake.
What a stupid idea.
I limped to the end. Chapter 24. Christmas Eve.
That landed us with my mother.
We had filmed several with her, explaining each time that it was for her granddaughters for Christmas. My sweet mom...burdened by bad eyesight, balance, and betrayed by her memory...would sit agreeably while we filmed, not understanding what I read (to be fair, NONE of us understood the convoluted plot) but enjoying the experience.
But Chapter 24. On Christmas Eve...I sat on the floor, book-ended between Brad and Mom in their recliners. I hit record. Brad started clowning around in a very un-Brad-Mosiman-like way, tossing tickle fingers my way, waving at the camera, bunny ears...getting Mom to giggle and join in. I pretended to be exasperated which delighted my Mom all the more. We reached the end of the chapter, all three of us pausing to wave at the camera while I said "I love you," my Mom echoing my words.
Merry Christmas, Amy.
My gift arrived on the final day of Advent. Not gold, frankincense and myrrh. God granted me my mom's smile...soft and gentle. Her sweet laughter...a rare and treasured sound. He found a way to include my Mom as an active, productive, and meaningful member of our silly little scenario. At 89, tucked away alone in her small apartment, surrounded by strangers, my Mom might sometimes feel that she's been forcibly retired from the stage that was her life...relegated to watching a foreign film where she doesn't understand the language and can't follow the plot. But this night...Mom owned the spotlight. She was the star.
So in the end, because we implemented my Dad's ridiculous "for all the marbles" tradition, Douglas won. To be fair, he was the ONLY participant who had refrained from complaining directly to me AND rose to impressive heights of competitive game-play...Douglas wasn't going to half-ass this Half Dome of Advent Escape Rooms...the boy came equipped to play. And like any good math teacher, also showed his work.
If the goal was togetherness, we achieved it. Together, we dreaded (almost) every single chapter and together, we waited, with bated breath, for this Advent to be over. "Advent" in the Christian sense means "Arrival." To look at the word, you might think of "adventure." That worked for us this year. Not all adventures are good. Ever seen "Deliverance?" "Advent" could also resemble "adversity." Yup. And how about "adverse?"
The best I can say is that the Mosimans survived Advent this year. There is a lot to be said for those little cardboard calendars with the little windows. I guess I could step up my game a little and give everyone a spaghetti strainer on December 1st. Nothing's easier than an Advent colander.
