Wednesday, December 05, 2007

Poor Santa (I mean Tate)


Well, our visit looked promising at first. In my head I imagined Drue and Reese being fine but Tate screaming. We got to the mall and there was no line! That was a huge plus because I figured I'd be able to get the kids somewhat adjusted to the big scary bearded man without having to rush through for the waiting people.

Reese hesitantly headed toward him with just a bit of prodding. Drue followed. And Tate couldn't scramble out of his stroller fast enough. He walked right up to Santa and started jabbering gleefully. That is, until Santa moved. I think Tate thought Santa was just a stuffed decoration.

It all went downhill from there. Santa reached out and scooped Tate up and plopped him on his knee. Tate's initial look of wonderment quickly turned to terror. I knew we had to act fast. I scooped Drue up and delivered her to his other knee. Her fingers immediately went into her mouth and the tears started flowing. I hastily positioned Reese on the arm of the chair next to Santa, then ducked out of the way so the gal could start snapping pictures.

One picture got snapped, then Tate slithered down from Santa's gloved grip and started running for me. Please let that one picture be ok I thought. I started to go look at it, then remembered Drue was frozen in place on Santa so I went and rescued her as well. The girls were looking in the general direction of the camera in the first picture, but all you could see of Tate was the back of his head as he was turned away from the camera screaming in Santa's face.

The picture gal cheerfully said, "Let's try again."


Voluntarily subject my youngest two children to another terrifying encounter with Kris Kringle?!?

Sure, why not. I at least wanted Tate's face to be in the picture.

This time they suggested that I put Reese on his lap, let Drue stand in front, plop Tate down and r-u-n. By this time a small line was starting to form much to my dismay. I always think the parents waiting will be appalled at me stepping back and watching my children cry. But much to my surprise, they were cheering me on.

"Pull that picture out to show him when he turns 16!", they shouted amusingly.

After I peeled my sweatshirt sleeve out of his little fist, I snatched his blanket from the stroller thinking that might help. As you can clearly didn't. He stood right up and just hollered.

Santa kept saying, "You are making Santa sad," to Drue because she didn't want to sit on his lap. Call me crazy, but I don't believe she cared. Of course, Reese latched on to that train of thought and has been taunting Drue all afternoon, "Drue, you made Santa cry".

What a joyous season indeed....
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