There’s Something About Santa

I have felt a cold coming on for days now. So I wasn't at all surprised to find myself hacking all over myself, with another sore throat and a head ache when I woke up this morning. I felt TERRIBLE! And this cold couldn't have touched down at a worse time. Today was dh's squadron children's Christmas party and Santa would be making his grand appearance on a helicopter. Which I thought was pretty cool. So I thought the girls would think it was pretty cool. A. was a hard sell. Because Santa does not ride helicopters, she firmly informed me. He rides sleighs. Of course I told her she was correct, but that Santa also rides helicopters here in Tucson because of the base. Once she got over that, she was all about it. S. was easy, as usual. So then I had two kids who had been looking forward to seeing Santa's unorthod0x entrance to the party.

When I came out of the room this morning, I headed straight for the Dayquil and remarked to dh about how terrible I felt. My voice, apparently, has been sounding kinda hoarse over the last few days anyways, so he wasn't surprised at all to hear that this cold had finally taken me over, either. He thought it was best that I stayed home today. And he was probably right. But I promised the girls. And so, despite the fact that I also began feeling nauseated by the time we piled into the car two hours later, we went. And you know what? The girls were totally psyched about seeing Santa in the chopper, but not so much on the ground- in an armchair- in the hanger where the party was being held.

We all watched him fly in, taxi, disembark and then finally make his way from the flight line to the hangar. And that was all they wanted. When we asked if they wanted to sit with him and talk to him, S. acted as if we were asking her to chew on some grimy, squiggly worms. A. was less dramatic but much more forceful. "No. I don't want to see Santa. I want to play knock over the blocks."

You know what else she told me about sitting with Santa?

"Santa makes me nervous." (it's her new favorite word)

I dragged my sick ass out here and they don't want to sit with Santa, not even for a second?!!! Because he makes her NERVOUS?! I thought. The things I do (like leave the house with the taste of vomit in my mouth) to make my kids happy… Bah Humbug!

But what could I do? We hadn't been there a half an hour. We were NOT going home yet! So we took the kids around to the different tables set up with crafts and cookie/cupcake decorations. And they had a great time with those.

They didn't even cast a second glance to Santa sitting at the front of the room surrounded by eager kids who did want to see him!

What's weird is that A. is usually all about Santa. At least, the idea of him. She's been drawing him pictures for us to send, and later this weekend dh is going to help her write a letter to him. You can mail them "to Santa" from the post office on base and supposedly you'll get a real letter back from him postmarked from the North Pole or something like that. So she's pretty excited about that. But it appears that she doesn't give much of a damn about the "real thing". I think it's because of the beard. How can you trust a guy with a long beard, after all?

While we're on the Santa topic, this month Johnjay and Rich from 93.7 KRQ is on BRAT PATROL! If you have a wild child (or several of them), shoot Santa a line via email with your kid's name, what (s)he wants for Christmas, what (s)he is doing that is so bad, and the best time to call. Santa will then call and have a little heart to heart talk with your brat child and scare him/her straight! I haven't actually heard any of the broadcasted calls, but a friend of mine did. Her daughter (who, according to my friend, has been nothing short of a handful lately- must be something in the water) was in the car with her, and heard Santa talking to a kid whose mom had written in about him. Santa warned this kid that he wouldn't get (insert toy of his choice here) if he didn't behave. Instead he would get a flaming bag of reindeer poo! Upon hearing that, this kid was immediately repentant, and it was just enough to make my friend's daughter reconsider her very own Christmas wish list. "Mommy, I don't want a bag of reindeer poo!" she said. Hopefully, it sticks (the determination to be good, not the poop) and she stops giving her mom and dad a hard time. At least until Santa has returned to the North Pole, where he will hibernate until next Christmas.

So, if you're harboring a pint-sized terrorist between the ages of 5 and 8, you may want to send Johnjay and Rich an email. It doesn't hurt to try, right?