Remember how I said that each member of our family has done something weird and embarrassing over the past few days? I’ve talked about me, and Drew, and Sydney.
Last weekend when the kids learned that their grandparents were going to take them to have breakfast with Santa, they were SUPER excited. I mean, this was their chance to tell Santa exactly what they wanted for Christmas. Sydney carefully picked out her red Christmas dress to wear, complete with her black shoes, favorite necklace, and red hair clips. Oh, and of course, she wrote that letter to ‘Satan’ (oh, how that pesky letter N can change the entire message!).
Dylan also dressed very carefully . . . brown pants, brown shirt, brown hat, brown shoes.
It was his Halloween costume. Which happens to be a UPS delivery man. He looks super cute in it, but when your kid deliberately wears his Halloween costume to visit Santa . . . it kind of smacks of ‘weird kid’.
Personally, I think this was Dylan’s way of telling Santa to SUCK IT; even though Santa has a fancy sleigh and a herd of gay reindeer, Dylan has a UPS truck and can bring gifts ANY DAY OF THE YEAR.
At least he looks more normal than the lady sitting next to him (I know her; she dresses like that all the time, not just at Christmas).
****** Each year in our neighborhood, Santa makes an appearance courtesy of the fire department. He sits atop a firetruck and tosses candy canes down to the children who are waiting in front of their houses (the parents get an email with information about the date and time of his upcoming visit).
The sirens are on the firetruck are very briefly turned on to announce Santa’s arrival, but then they are turned off.
For some reason, Dylan is petrified of Santa on the firetruck. Both this year and last year, he cowered in the house while Sydney ran joyfully across the front yard in order to shout “Merry Christmas” and gather up all the candy canes at the edge of the road.
Dylan knows that Santa supposedly comes down the chimney, eats the cookies we leave out for him, and leaves gifts under the tree.
Well, the evening after the whole Santa-on-the-firetruck trauma, he was really struggling to fall asleep. There was multiple instances of him leaving his bedroom, tears, and excuses.
Finally, he told me, “I don’t want that Santa to come in our house while I’m sleeping! I scared of Santa! He stay out of our house when we sleeping!”.
Well, because Santa only exists to bring pleasure to children, I see no reason to stay married to the premise if it’s going to cause him fear and anxiety.
So I told him that I’ll leave a note for Santa on the chimney and tell him just to drop off the gifts on the front step. Daddy and I will get up really early to go put them under the tree before he and Sydney wake up.
He says, “Put the presents on the front step like the UPS man?”
Oh, I see.
He’s successfully diminished the myth of Santa until he’s no more powerful than a mere UPS delivery man.