A Stranger's Lap

Believe it or not, sometimes I'm nice. Well, at least in Zoe's eyes I'm nice. Last night, if you were to get my boys' opinions, I'm a horrid, horrid person.

Normally on Thursday nights, the boys finish up their tennis lesson and then spend an hour and a half scarfing pizza and playing ping pong with friends at the club while Zoe has her lesson. But, because of the need to fit 25 things into a schedule better suited to accommodate 18 things, not to mention the potential for a winter storm this weekend, with a little request from Zoe best summed up as WHEN AM I GOING TO SEE SANTA thrown into the cornucopia of chaos, occasionally things need to be rearranged. As a result, last night did not fall under their category of Super Fun.

In order to avoid giving them the opportunity to verbally object to the schedule change, I texted Zach from the car with a little something like "Santa mall meet me in parking lot now." Since I didn't get a reply in the form of either a message or the sight of a boy coming out the door, I followed this message up with a phone call that included phrases like "I know you don't want to but you have to, I don't want to hear it, it will not take forever, yes I know you hate malls, yes malls are stupid" and finally "GET IN THE CAR!"

We hadn't taken four steps inside the automatic door before Zach's I HATE MALLS chant began. Keeping in mind that I hate malls too, and considering the fact that the first thing we were subjected to was the olfactory assault courtesy of the Macy's cosmetics department, this chant did not boost my Christmas spirit and I started to feel a little claustrophobic. Fortunately, he broke into the second verse of his chant, and it went a little something like this: I hate malls and I'm hungry.

After "dinner" in the food court, during which I felt like I was trapped in a John Hughes movie - the lighting, the bad Christmas music being piped in, the neon Sbarro sign with the burned out "o", the teenagers making out and the exhausted woman forcefully shoving her crying, snowsuited child into a stroller - we wandered around trying to find Santa's Village. As soon as I saw the tips of the fake evergreens in the distance, the boys decided to head to the bathroom. I'm sure Santa wishes that more kids would make this a priority before they sit on his lap.

Zoe and I waited in the shortest Santa line I've ever seen (aka we were the only people in line) and after (hopefully) washing their hands, the boys joined her. I pulled out my phone to snap a couple pictures, and that's when Bi-Focal-Wearing Helper Elf quickly intervened.

Elf: Excuse me, no pictures allowed. You need to buy something.

Me: But I don't want anything. I just want a picture.

Elf: Then you can buy a picture.

Me: But I don't want to buy a $17 8x10. I want a $0 picture.

Elf: Well, usually people buy pictures.

Me: I just want to take one picture. I promise I won't tell.

Elf: How about a keychain? Or a magnetic frame?

Me: I don't want a keychain or frame. I just want a picture.

Elf: Well, I guess if I don't see you take the picture...

Me: Merry Christmas.

Santa turned out to be pretty cool. He thanked my boys for cooperating with their mom, said they are nice kids and told them to enjoy their much-needed time off from school during the Christmas break. He didn't throw in any fake Ho-Ho-Ho's or rub his bowl full of jelly or bother to share any wacky tales from the North Pole, all of which my boys appreciated and, judging by the smile on her face, I'm sure Zoe didn't miss.

On our way out (which, by the way, was expeditious due to Zach's saying "Do you know the way to the car? Yes? Well, then, let's go straight there making zero extra turns, without stopping to look at anything.") Zoe asked me the question that all parents dread: Was that Santa real?

I stopped walking (inducing an eye roll from Zach who, after throwing his arms in the air, kept walking), looked at Zoe and without a hint of doubt in my voice said, "Well of course he's real. Who else would it be?"

Yes, I looked my child in the eye and lied. But I am NOT losing the Santa card to a six-year-old. After all, it's still three weeks until Christmas.

Really, I've Been Good

Dear Santa,

As you know, 2009 had it's ups and downs, but for the most part I think I handled things pretty well. Yes, there was the occasional empty threat of violence, a sprinkling of hand gestures, and a couple brief moments of rage-induced silence, but since no permanent damage was done (so far), I think I'm entitled to a few requests. A couple of my wishes are for my kids, because I truly believe that this isn't a time of year for selfishness. Please bring me the following:

1. A restaurant kid's menu that offers something besides chicken hunks, burgers, corn dogs, fries, and gloppy mac-n-cheese. And would it kill them to offer fruit or a salad?
2. A lotion bottle that allows me to use the bottom inch of product without having to pull out the pump and smear the stick on my legs.
3. Although I appreciate you sending my kids the gift of filling the garbage, what I really need them to have is the coveted gift of taking out the garbage.
4. A voodoo doll resembling Fanny.
5. If I tell a kid to "come here," please bring them the ability to stop saying "Why?" from two floors away and just COME HERE!
6. An end to the school/science projects.
7. A normal long-sleeve shirt that doesn't make me look sleazy, boring, or like I qualify for a senior citizen discount.
8. A caffeine patch.
9. My kids could use the ability to be able to figure out, all by themselves, that if we're leaving at 9:30, they should maybe get their shoes and coats on at 9:25.
10. Dog pee that doesn't destroy my lawn.
11. A package of chicken that, when I think about the fact that I need to defrost it for tomorrow, automatically moves itself from the freezer to the refrigerator.
12. When you're in the area, please break my neighbor's lawn mower, leaf blower, weed wacker, and Shop-Vac. And feel free to let your reindeer crap in his yard.
13. A vacation.
14. I know a few people that could use a sense of humor, and you probably know who they are, too.

Please note that I didn't ask for anything unrealistic like sanity, more good-hair days, listening skills for my kids, or a built-in vodka dispenser on my refrigerator door. And if you really want to know the truth about what happened during school drop-off that one morning involving that fake-boobed/not-really-a-blonde/rule-breaking/know-it-all lady, it wasn't my fault. She tripped on the curb.

Sincerely, Love, and all that stuff,

The Mean Mom

Little Known Facts About Santa

While having lunch with Zoe yesterday, I told her that since there's no school on Friday, we're probably going to see Santa. Her eyes immediately registered panic and I could tell she hated the whole idea, but then she found out that Zach and Charlie will be there with her. After shoving a couple strawberries in her mouth and chewing in silence, she eventually said, "Okay, I'll go. Zach can hold my hand. But won't Santa's lap get super tired when Charlie puts his big legs on there?" I reassured her that Santa would probably survive, considering the fact that most of his elves are bigger than 70-pound Charlie. Mentioning elves triggered an avalanche of information from the girl, and I had no idea that she was such an expert when it came to a guy that she has never had the nerve to talk to.

• His favorite song isn't "Jingle Bells," it's "Tingle Bells."
• He eats cookies and spaghetti all day.
• His favorite cookie is sugar with red frosting.
• Sometimes he takes a bath, but not very often.
• He lives at the North Pole, where he takes care of his deer: Sam, Dasher, Fatty, Chowdy, Dingy, Manny, Shoobie, and Daisy.
• He likes to watch TV, mostly the news and Tom & Jerry.
• He plays football with the elves, and is really good at throwing.
• His favorite elf is that little guy named Liddy.
• If I'm naughty, Santa won't bring me a toy, but he will bring me worms.
• Santa has a wife? No way.

Dear Santa, Whoever You Are

For a kid, the month of December might as well be 300 days long. Decorating a tree in your living room, watching as giant toy-filled bags are hauled into the house, seeing something other than chocolate chip cookies appear from the oven, and knowing that parents are ingesting a few more doses of Motrin than usual. The anticipation of Christmas presents paired together with two full weeks off from school is a lot to handle, and if it weren't for the fact that Santa knows when they're being naughty, all hell would break loose. I constantly remind the kids that I can give Santa an update about the bad behavior, next time I see him at the mall.

In the past, we've visited Santa only a few times. The boys have never cared for wasting an entire day at the mall to wait in a long line with whiny overdressed kids, and have preferred to use the letter-writing approach instead. Zoe has an obvious distrust of the guy, always keeps her distance, and after mumbling her demands, prefers to remain mute. Therefore, Zach has been kind enough to include her requests in his letters.

Eventually, the sad day arrives when the truth about Santa is discovered, and the letter writing stops. It's the letters toward the end of the belief period that have given me the best glimpse into Zach's sense of humor and logic. This is the letter he wrote when he was nine:

Dear Santa Claus,

It must be hard to get everything without attracting too much attention. I hope this isn't too hard. I want the game "Stay Alive!" There is probably a 99.9999% chance of adults hearing or seeing you flying by (I never do). How many trips do you take back to your workshop? Where is it anyway? How do you travel all over the world, walk through everyone's house, and eat about ten to the billionth power in one night? You probably have a little more time with a different time everywhere. I think it is the same time everywhere you go. If that's true, you travel west.

There is one more thing. My sister, Zoe, wants a "Weeble Castle." Can you do it? Thank you! I hope you aren't sick or anything!

Your friend, Zachary Adkins

Zach has always understood things very literally and logically. It would have been easy to just let his belief in Santa fade without going through the effort of convincing him otherwise, but that wouldn't have been much fun. Instead of answering his doubts and questions with the truth, Doug wrote a four page letter in return, posing as Mr. Claus. He answered his question about the cookie consumption using the term "cookie black hole." He praised Zach's theory of traveling west, but explained that he "actually travels at .99999% of the speed of light by using a quantum field generator." And in order to prevent being seen, he "uses metamaterials in the construction of my sleigh, my red suit, bag, and even woven into my reindeers' fur." Zach was completely convinced that Santa was real, because he had the letter to prove it.

Doug ended the letter with the best paragraph of all:

Someone once said that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. In other words, something really complicated--like a quantum gravitational field generator--seems magical to those who don't know how it works. It's good to be skeptical--to question things. But I hope that in time you'll also discover that with a little ingenuity, anything is possible, including making invisible sleighs fly and causing ten to the billionth power of cookies to disappear.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, Santa makes about 210 million trips back to the workshop, on average. And that year was the last Christmas that all three kids still believed in Santa Claus.