December 21, 2006

Confessions from the Carpool

What if Norman Rockwell drew a real family Christmas scene?

By Shana Moore
Times Columnist

For eleven months of the year, my thoughts of Christmas are pure Norman Rockwell. I fantasize about quiet times around a fire, cheerful decorations, and festive gatherings with family and friends. The mental images are so quaint that I could frame them and hang them over my mantle. Then, along comes December and, all of a sudden, my associations with Norman Rockwell are replaced with thoughts of Norman Bates. Only now, I’m the lead in “Psycho.”

Of course, I mean this in the non-serial killer sense of the word. It’s just that I’m scurrying around like a crazy woman; trying to re-create the charming scene I’ve carried around in my mind all year. And in the process, I make myself so busy that I wouldn’t even notice if I’d already attained it two wreaths and a batch of homemade sugar cookies ago.

It’s got me thinking that perhaps Mr. Rockwell’s scenes were as contrived as my family’s Christmas photo, which could easily give the impression that we spend our days Purell® clean, dressed to the tens (the “nines” are too tight), and in a constant state of mutual adoration. While the picture is an actual snapshot of our family life, it represents just one second in a year of 31,536,000 seconds. Truth is, we spend millions of them smelly, mismatched, and pinched.

Couldn’t this mean that Rockwell also idealized his family scenes? I don’t know about you, but it comforts me to think of him less as a chronicler of simpler times and more as the forefather of Photo Shop. (This sure beats having to accept that I’m doing it all wrong!) You see, we modern-day folks can erase our frown lines, bulging hips, and the black sheep of the family, with the click of a mouse. Well, who’s to say that ol’ Norm didn’t just use the low-tech approach of turning a blind eye to such unpleasantness?

For example, in Rockwell’s famous dinner scene, “Freedom from Want,” it wouldn’t be half as heart-warming to see Mom leaning over the turkey, dripping with sweat from all the chaos in the kitchen. Or to highlight all those craggily wrinkles on Pa’s furrowed brow after he was ordered not to cut the turkey slices too thick again this year. Or to explain the children’s jovial smiles, as they sit around the table, by depicting little Joey plugging his nose and crossing his eyes as Aunt Edna looks on with flushed cheeks and a shocked look in her eyes. So Mr. Rockwell did the polite thing and left off the details that would make this family portrait look more like our family feasts.

It’s enough to make me want to commission a portrait of a bona fide modern Christmas so I’ll remember all year long how crazy this month is. Sure, the image would still have all the magic I’d want it to with twinkling lights, festive colors, and the cozy aura of togetherness that’s just not as present during the rest of the year. In the background, you’d see party invitations on the fridge, shiny papers and bows glistening from under the tree, and stacks of cards sent by far away friends and family. There would be a roaring fire crackling in the fireplace and cookie crumbs in the corners of our smiling mouths.

But Hark! If you looked a little closer, you’d see the rest of the story. In the spirit of keeping it real, you’d also notice that Mom’s pants were too tight since her workouts are the first thing cut when the calendar fills up. The tree branches and poinsettia leaves would sag like a teenage boy’s pants because no one bothered to give them water. The kids would wear the disturbing expression of excitement and greed for the haul that awaits them, and the gifts would bulge out of bags in a home wanting only for more space.

And the most disturbing part? There’d be something about the look on Mom’s face that showed equal parts exhaustion and satisfaction that would prove she really won’t change a thing next year. But I don’t think it’s too much to ask that the artist channel his inner Rockwell and leave off any trace of Crazy Eye that would earn her the lead in the next re-make of “Psycho.”

Shana McLean Moore lives in Almaden Valley and is the co-author of “Femail: A Comic Collision in Cyberspace” and the author of “Caffeinated Ponderings on Life, Laughter & Lattes.” For more information visit Moore’s Web site at www.caffeinatedponderings.com.