Christmas 2007

Days of Winter Vacation Used: 7
Remaining Days: 6
In the Attic: The Santa Lie

Remember last year? Remember the frickin' kitchen that I toiled over, assembling piece by piece for hours? I was so thrilled that this year, I wouldn't have any major assembly to complete prior to Christmas Morning.

I put Binta to bed with the same scare as last year: "Better get to bed, or Santa can't come leave your presents." I love that line! I wish I could use it more than just once every 365 days! It makes bedtime SO easy!

I allowed ample time for her to fall asleep, then proceeded to set up "Santa's workshop" at the dining room table. I had paper, bows, ribbons, and tags. And about 10 more packages to wrap. I put The Santaland Diaries, on the stereo, so I'd have some holiday cheer while I worked away.

David Sedaris had just finished recounting his experience as a Macy's Christmas Elf around 11:30, when I heard a little person's shocking gasp and inhalation of breath. I looked up, with ribbon and scissors in hand, to see Binta standing in the hallway, rubbing her eyes, and gaping at the Christmas tree, now surrounded by colorful packages.

"Binta! Santa said you're supposed to be asleep!"

"You talked to him?" she asked, with awe.

Thinking quickly back to the Troubleshooting section of the Parenting Manual, I had to make the split-second decision as to if I had had a conversation with Santa or not. I decided I wasn't prepared to back up a fictional conversation with a guy I hadn't met.

"Well, no, I didn't talk to him. I just know that's what he says. "

I tucked her back into bed, telling her not to get up until Christmas Morning. I finished my wrapping, put all of my materials away, and remembered to take care of the milk, cookies, and celery that Binta had left as an offering. I ate one cookie and disposed of the rest, because I was concerned that she might be observant enough to notice if they were returned to the kitchen. Yes, you may think that's overdoing it a bit, but she is a pretty sharp cookie.

Christmas Day came and went without a mention of the scene. I confided in my mom with a hushed voice about how I had been busted the evening earlier. She, of course, found it hilarious, and had to share the story with Larry.

Just when I think I'm in the clear, Binta brings up the subject before going to bed last night:

"Mama, do you remember when I got up and you said Santa said to go back to bed?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Did you see him?"

"Uh, no. I was working there, at the table, wrapping presents for Nana and Papa, like you saw me. I know I went into the den to take a break and do some computer work, and when I came back out, I saw that he had already been here."

"Did you talk to him?"

"Well, no. I mean, I just went into the den for like a second, and he was already gone. But I guess that makes sense, right? Cause he's got a lot of houses to get to. He has to be pretty quick with his visits."

"But how did he eat the cookies and milk so fast?"

"Well, maybe he doesn't eat them at the houses. Maybe he takes some of them back home for Mrs. Claus, or the elves."

"But I only gave him 3 cookies. There's too many elves."

"Well, he gets lots of cookies, remember? He's not going to be able to eat all of them himself. He probably eats a couple at the first house, and then saves the others to take back to the North Pole."

"But how does he get them there?"

"Well, as Santa's dropping off all of the toys, his sleigh is emptying out. Maybe he has a special sack that he uses to put the cookies in, so he can take them back to share with everyone, cause by then, he'll have more room."

Finally, no more questions came. I think she's satisfied. For now.

I think my kid just may have a future as a detective interrogator.

Anyone else slightly disturbed at the ease in which I was able to lie on the spot like that?

Some Assembly Required

alternate title: Two O'Clock AM on Christmas Morning

My first great idea was to get the substitute Little Mermaid Kitchen. My second great idea was to have it all assembled for her by Christmas morning. That idea was brilliant.

When it was sometime in the afternoon on December 24, that is.

By the time it was 2:10 AM on December 25, it was just plain moronic.

When I got Binta to bed at around 9:30, after firing off all of the "Santa will pass you by if you're not asleep" threats, I had only to wait until about 9:45 to hear her deep, regular breathing drifting out into the hallway. My cue to get crackin' on the kitchen.

The box, deceptively large, contained approximately 1,000,000 pieces inside it. That is, of course, an angry exaggeration. What it contained were ten "sheets" of plastic pieces, all connected with the plastic "webbing" that must be twisted to detach the 7 - 10 plastic parts per sheet. There were about 10 larger pieces that I added to my stack of materials. That gave me just over 100 pieces of plastic, all labeled with clever names, such as piece AA or PR.

By 10:40, I was ready to start constructing the play kitchen. I scanned the family room, now entirely covered in plastic parts. I had the first realization that my brilliant idea was going to be costly. Well, this was actually my second realization. To be honest, I knew I was in trouble the minute I opened the box.

The directions, of course, were challenging to work with. In an attempt to reach all parents, both English-speaking and non-English speaking, the toy company had printed the directions with minimal words, using drawings and sketches only. In effect, getting through to none of the parents at all. I kept reminding myself: "I have a masters degree. I can do this."

I kept working at a serious pace, ignoring the raw, tender spots on my palms from using the screw driver too many times. I took a break only to consume Santa's cookies and milk. I kept focused on my objective, jumping at every little sound that could be Binta, rising from her sleep and catching me red-handed. But she didn't.

As the project neared completition, I was directed to place two AA batteries into the range. Immediately after doing so, I bumped the button, triggering loud sizzling and boiling noises to erupt. Attempts to silence the toy by re-pressing the button were not satisfied. The noise continued and cycled through again, for each desperate, panicked push. Even swearing at it didn't help. In the still, quiet evening, the noises ricocheted off the walls of the family room like the roar of a jet airliner. I glanced down the hallway, certain that I would see Binta walking towards me. I would have preferred having her walk in on me having sex than being caught with the disassembled kitchen sprawled out in front of me, wearing a milk moustache and having cookies on my breath.

She didn't wake. I continued on, finally finishing at around 1:30. The problem now facing me was to complete the wrapping, which I accomplished in record time.

At 2:05, I began the clean up process - disposing of all the plastic "twigs" from the webbing, unused scraps of wrapping paper, and the store bags and receipts. I stepped out into the backyard to dump the large cardboard box, and when I turned around, I saw Binta rounding the corner.

She was completely groggy, and hadn't seen a thing, although I had already prepared my lie: "Santa already stopped by, and he was just so busy with all of the other toys he had to deliver, that he asked me to finish putting your kitchen together for him." I carried her to the bed, and she instantly fell asleep again.

I collapsed in my bed, trying calm my racing heartbeat from too many shots of adrenaline in the past 4 hours. I discouragingly counted on my fingers the five more Christmases I'd be put through this tribulation.


Just a few hours later, she was opening her present. She was thrilled with the kitchen. She tried out all the sound effects (which strangely sounded so much softer during the day), opened all of the cupboards, and prepared "snacks" for us to eat between opening other presents. She reflected on what a great job Santa's elves had done, building her kitchen.

I thought back to those five Christmases I was dreading last night, and already regretted that there wouldn't be a hundred more to enjoy.

I Didn't Know Parenting Would be This Hard...

It all started when I asked Binta, several weeks ago, what she would like for Christmas. She immediately responded that she'd like a "Little Wermaid Kitchen" [sic]. I did a little research on the computer and quickly discovered the unflattering reviews left from some disgruntled consumers who pointed out how difficult the kitchen was to put together. Those who were able to successfully piece it together, were quick to mention what poor quality it was, how difficult it was to operate, and how several pieces had already cracked. I investigated the floor model at Toys R Us and confirmed that the grouchy reviewers were not just looking for something to gripe about - the floor model had already taken a bit of a beating.

I attempted to dig deeper, to find out just what it was that Binta really liked about the Little Mermaid Kitchen. Was it really the fact that it had a female half-fish character beaming from the stove top?

Of course it wasn't. When I clicked through some of the other photos available on the product, Binta became highly animated when this image appeared:

"See the eggs? It has eggs with it!" Just as I had suspected. Ariel, screw off.

I can find fake eggs for less than $69.99.

And I did. I found an entirely suitable substitute kitchen with play food (including fake fried eggs) for $49.99. And it looks to be of a stronger type of plastic that will not crack so easily.

Yesterday, as I dressed her in her red couduroy dress for her visit to Santa, I got a little smug and asked, "So, what are you going to tell Santa you want for Christmas?"

She responded, "A Sponge Bob Square Pants camera!"

Huh?

"What are you talking about? You said you wanted a Little Wermaid Kitchen!"

"Well I saw a Sponge Bob Square Pants camera on TV, and I want that so I can take pictures. I don't need eggs, anyway."

To be honest with you, I'm not sure if I was more disappointed that she had switched on me without notice, or that her new request involved (ack!) Sponge Bob.

Well, my research for this product revealed not only that the camera runs around $40.00, but that it is a digital camera recommended for kids 8 and older.

Hideous, isn't it?

So far, Binta has requested two items for Christmas, neither of which she has a chance of getting. But she's pretty sure she will, because she informed my mother of such this afternoon. Mom, being a quick thinker, used this opportunity to prepare Binta for the likely fact that she will not, in fact, be snapping Christmas photos with Bob this year. She did it gently and logically, explaining that just as Santa will not be bringing Nana a cane this year, because Nana's not yet old enough, nor will Santa be bringing Binta a Sponge Bob Square Pants camera this year, because she, too, is not old enough. Nicely done. Sounded good to me.

Binta, however, clearly crestfallen, retreated to her bedroom. Door closed.

Another pickle. Now what?

When Binta emerged, red-eyed and puffy, she mumbled something about how she's worried she's not going to get any toys for Christmas. The next 20 minutes involved tears, arguing, attempts to comfort and assure, attempts to redirect and distract, followed by a final strategy of "some kids don't get anything at all for Christmas." None of which were successful. Binta, usually the master Drama Queen, was not being dramatic at all. She was clearly heart-broken.

I quickly ran through some of my options: buy the damn camera, take back the kitchen, or plow through and "let this be one lesson, of many to come, that life is filled with disappointment."

Or, quickly pull out one of her littler toys I had reserved for her stocking, as evidence that she would, in fact, be getting toys for Christmas.

Ranking right up there as some of the hardest mothering minutes I've logged since taking her home from the hospital - I felt a few tears surfacing as she hugged me and thanked me for the $3.99 toy that she held in her hands - proof that happiness would prevail and she would receive toys this Christmas after all.

A Visit with Santa and a Cup of Humbug

For breakfast: Homemade French Toast (Binta insisted on an Eggo waffle instead)
Next book I'm planning to read: Treasure Island
In the Attic: What the hell has happened to the Santa tradition in our country?

Today we went to visit Santa. Here's what I thought it would be like:
Binta would sit on Santa's lap and he'd engage her in a conversation including what her name is, whether she has been good or bad this year, and what she'd like for Christmas. I'd snap a few photos, and he'd give her a candy cane.

Or rather, that's what it was like 20 years ago when I was a kid and visited Santa each Christmas. I projected those memories onto what today might be like. Turns out, I was way off. Our culture has made quite a diversion from that picture in the course of the past few decades. Here's how things have changed:

First of all, some photography studio has evidently stepped in and decided to claim all the rights to take the Santa/child photos. I don't know when that happened, but everyone around me was acting like it was perfectly normal! Packages ranged from $25 to $50, and these people were paying it! I was not even allowed to pull my camera out of my purse, when it came to our turn. In order to use their Santa, I had to hand over the joy of snapping my child's picture to some kid in an elf suit. And in order to take one 5 X 7 home with me, I had to fork over $14.13.

Kids were not the only ones using Santa's Photoshop. Grown up children, adults, even entire families were having their pictures taken with Santa. The last time I had my picture taken with Santa was when I was about 10. And go figure: around that same time, I stopped believing in Santa. When I was 11, he became just some strange old man dressing up in a Santa suit. And it became inappropriate for me to spend time posing for pictures with him. When I look back at the pictures of me and my brother sitting with Santa, I can tell that we really think we are in the presence of a magical being who will bring us toys based on reports of our good behavior. Derek looking up at him with wide, awestruck eyes. Those pictures are magical. But why would a 17-year-old with a thong hanging out of her pants want to sit on Santa's lap? That's just plain creepy. And the family pictures. Sure, I'm totally for people having family pictures taken for the holidays. It just so happens that there are plenty of photography studios in the area who will do just that. And there won't be a strange old guy dressing up like a fictional character in the picture with you. And anyway, you're holding up the line for the kids who do believe in Santa!

Which brings me to the wait. We stood in line for 1.75 hours for the total event (including waiting to have our picture printed for us). Don't get me wrong, I knew there would be some amount of a wait. But during this extended period, I got to witness all kinds of miserable parenting strategies and ill-behaved children. What is the matter with a child who will misbehave right in the vicinity of Santa Claus? When I was a kid, all it took was the mention of Santa, and the fact that "Santa's watching" to keep me in line. Now, parents are bribing their kids to behave during the wait to see Santa! How backwards is that?

Finally, there was Santa himself. This guy was the most lifeless, boring Santa I've ever seen. Our Santa sat on his bench and passed off the kids, smiling simply for the pictures, and barely even speaking to them. Come on, Santa's supposed to be lively and jolly! We should hear his "Ho, ho, ho!" echoing through the whole mall! I know the guy's tired; has had a million people visiting him. Perhaps we should restrict Santa visits for small children who still believe, if the old man is going to get that tuckered out. Put out a lifesize cardboard image of him for people who just want his pretty face.

Christmas still comes only once a year. Glad that's the same.