Ho Ho Holiday Horror

Late November. For most well adjusted adults, it means happy preparations for visiting home and enjoying the holiday festivities. However for me and my brother, November invokes graphic, WWII PTSD flashbacks. I begin profusely sweating at the sight of early holiday decor, and I hyperventilate when I see the Starbucks holiday cups.  This is because, for me and Luke, mid- November means only one unholy thing. We are going to have to take the Christmas card. 

For all intensive purposes, my mom is a normal, benevolent human being. Besides letting me watch "Will and Grace" a little too early and doing half my brother's homework to this day, she's also a pretty good parent. But for a few days in November , this all changed.

My mom is a werewolf and the Christmas card is her full moon. For some reason, she thought the world awaited our family's card and critiqued it like the fall issue of Vogue.  This woman will force me and my brother outside into near arctic conditions, bury us in a foot of fake snow, and scream at us to look filled with holiday cheer.  Although this process should take a mere 20 minutes, it does not.

I popped out of the womb being extremely photogenic. If it wasn't for my complete lack of height, cleavage, or all around facial beauty, I could be a Victoria's Secret model. My brother, on the other hand, cannot smile without looking like an obese dog who just pooped on your carpet.

In the 1990s me and my brother were at our most adorable, so my sociopathic /perfectionist mother felt the need to show the world via holiday stationary. This means that, in the 90s, my mom would take about 6 rolls of film, drive to get them developed, and end up with 200 pictures of my brother looking like he had just soiled himself.

This is why every Christmas card shoot took no less than a week, and why wreaths and red sweaters now make me lose all color in my face. My mind flashes to my mother, holding a giant camera and tossing cotton balls at our faces, screaming at Luke to "show his goddamn teeth".  Luke and I are sweating profusely in our vintage holiday overcoats, grasping hands and praying to an unmerciful God for salvation.

The whole time I'm trying to hold my perfect pose, so I can go play the Sims. Eventually, I punch my brother in the crotch out of frustration and run into my closet to hide from the bloodbath that will occur when my mom locates me.

The Christmas card is my personal Vietnam, Vietnam but with itchy, matching sweaters.  Here is a collection of some of Cindi Tyler's finest holiday classics.*  I think you'll all agree they were worth the hysteria, emotional scarring, and nose bleeds.

 ^ For this ridiculously staged masterpiece, we take you back to the early 1920s. A simpler time, where young boys dressed like Amelia Earhart and young girls dressed like little brown turds in berets. Who was she fooling with this one??? It is clearly October, we are clearly standing on a piece of white felt, and if you look behind the mailbox you can CLEARLY see leaves on the ground. Also, if I remember correctly, these Depression- era outfits were purchased at a flea market and smelled like newsprint and polio.

^ NONE OF THIS IS REAL SNOW. MY MOTHER PURCHASED INDUSTRIAL- SIZED PACKETS OF FAKE SNOW TO STAGE A FAKE SLEDDING ADVENTURE. Not to mention we are wearing ugliest sweaters known to man, I'm honestly surprised they even made two of them. Also, my brother looks completely constipated. He looks as if he is trying to enjoy this sledding adventure, but can't because he's currently undergoing out- patient surgery.

  

^ My mom had a thing for sibling photo shoots with slight undertones of incest. There is an infamous picture hanging in our hallway of me and my brother (ages 2 and 5) kissing on the lips. Why child services wasn't called at that point, I'll never know. This weirdly sexual, vintage- themed card featured me and my brother under the mistletoe. Why a brother and sister are under the mistletoe in the first place IS A COMPLETE MYSTERY.  In my mother's defense this creative theme was probably just a way to keep my brother from doing his creepy, murderous clown smile. These vintage hats were also a flea market purchase, and I'm pretty confident an elderly man died in the one Luke's wearing. 

^ From incest to Catholicism, the world's most secular family takes a turn for the religious. Was our camera direction to seductively pet the baby Jesus? Why is the ceramic camel so prominent in the shot? Why do I have the haircut/ the Talbots apparel of a soccer mom in the 5th grade? My mom just got lazy with this one, it's clearly mid- November and she didn't even attempt to pour Q-tip fuzz all over us. Not to mention my brother looks like the lovechild of one of the designers from "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" and Matt Bomer.

^ Just to prove child abuse doesn't end when the victims hit puberty, we have this fine piece of work. In a fit of artistic rage, Cindi made my poor father transport the giant wreath that decorates our garage, and hang it on bungee cords in our foyer.  At this point I am in high school. I am a high school student, wearing a matching his-and-hers plaid scarf, standing inside a giant wreath.

My brother looks like he either just underwent a liver transplant or is auditioning to play Eddie on a re-boot of "The Munsters".  My mom demanded she curl my hair, which gave me the look of an elderly prostitute (along with a few curling iron burns, that were allegedly accidental)

Please keep in mind, these are all winning shots. These glamorous portraits hit the presses and were sent out to the world. Nothing says Christmas like eternal Tyler family shame.

*Although ALL these pictures suggest COMPLETELY otherwise, my brother is a masculine, heterosexual young gent.