Monday, December 13, 2010

It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year to Be Scarred for Life

Dear L, 

Remember when you were unfazed by the horrifying nature of the crazy man in red? Maybe his belly made you think of your mama? Who knows, but year one you were calm, girl.  Those. Were. The. Days. 

"What's all the hubbub about?"
Last year, we went to the same Santa. You would have thought we were throwing you down the highway to hell. Sure we took a year off, in-between the seemingly enjoyable experience, maybe you didn't remember you had a chill time the last time? Last year, what a different reaction. Sure, I am a horrible parent for allowing Santa to pin you down as I laughed (and cried) on the sidelines to capture the shot. I think I was trying to prove a point to Nana Lu, who insisted on these dang pictures. This is what she got for pressing the Santa issue.  This is what I get for giving my mother a hard time. Side note: don't do this to your mother, ever.

 "Get me OUTTA HERE!"

This year. OH this year.  I thought it would be different. You've been wanting to see the big guy for weeks. You were ready to sit on his lap and tell him all of your hopes and dreams (that we carefully placed in your head as parents we are licensed to do).  It was going to be magical, to watch the magic (not horror) in your eyes. Despite a rough night out on Saturday, Mama & Daddy pulled ourselves together with one mission for Sunday: see Santa.   

We waited on an (almost) 2 hour line to wait for the same Santa that you had been with for the last two years; he's legit. As soon as we got there, we realized either Santa got a serious surgery to shrink himself by 35 elves or a totally different guy altogether. You waved to Santa, you didn't notice.  You had a great time on the ridiculously long line.  It didn't hurt that the adult to you ratio was 4:1.  Nana Lu & MyUncleChris came and entertained you for the 2 hour line, but all was looking up. You wanted to review all the things you were going to ask for, you were READY. As the line twisted and turned around the mall all was well. There were smiles, laughs, giggles, dancing; it was holiday time magical.  We turned the corner and it was your turn to talk to Santa.  As we turned that magical corner, we entered the vortex of Christmas year's past. Last year to be exact. 

You held on to me as if I was about to jump out of a plane. I could barely pull you off of me to throw you on the Southern Belle of a Santa before us - but pull you off and throw you I did. If faced with a choice - I would take a warm & fuzzy picture showing you having the time of your life.  Mama didn't have that choice. My choices were limited. 

My choices, as I saw them were as follows:

A) Sit down in the picture with you.  First of all, Santa may have been Southern, but he was no gentleman - it's not like he scootched over.  Secondly, and really more to the point, with the night Mama just had it isn't even fair to put this as a choice because this was not an option, Mama looked like a
hott tranny mess. 
B) Bag the picture altogether. See talk of 2 hour wait, not an option, Sweetie. 
C) Throw you on Santa and hope for the best (worst) picture to add to our collection.

"No. No. No. NO. NO."

You see my dear, childhood scarring aside, Mama had no choice. Throw you I must. I hope you get what you want for Christmas, kinda a missed opportunity here - not getting the big man's ear when you had the chance? (see last week's post - I'm channeling Rudolph's dad here).

Next year, we'll try again if you want - it's your choice, dude. But know this:  if you are going to have me wait on a line like that, I'm going to get a picture out of it.  Adorable or horrifying - that's up to you.


P.S. Don't worry. I put in a good word with Santa, turns out you are getting EVERYTHING you want and more.  Mama used a little bargaining when I had the chance. Santa had some choices too.

A) Give you all that you are dreaming of. 

B) Leave you there with him.

He decided on A - spoiling you. You appear much more unruly than you really are. Way to go girl. 

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