Several of you have asked whatever happened with Green and Santa Claus. Well, imagine my delight when, just days after I made a fool of myself in front of Green’s teacher, Green decided to abandon reading Superfudge altogether. I don’t know if this was because he didn’t like the story, or if he got to the offending chapter and simply didn’t want to know. Either way, when he told me that he put the book back on the shelf, I was thrilled.
Of course, I have trouble containing myself when I am thrilled. Without missing a beat, I hurled myself right back into the classroom and screeched, “Green stopped reading Superfudge! It’s all going to be OK! I am so happeeeeeeeeee!”
The teacher looked startled and backed up a step. Then she said something like, “I’m certainly glad that’s over!”
The good news is that Santa was alive and well for our holiday celebration this year. But, still, a heavy coating of skepticism blanketed all of our activities. The boys were questioning, and it made me nervous.
The week before Winter Break, Green came home with some important news. “Mommy,” he said, “Santa Claus is not real.”
I gulped. “What do you mean?” I asked.
Green said, “I read a book in the library that said that the real Santa Claus lived in the 1700s.”
“The library!” I barked. “It sounds like the books there are inappropriate for children. Maybe we should boycott! Start a petition…”
He continued, “If Santa lived in the 1700s, then he’s dead.”
“OK,” I countered. “If Santa Claus is dead, then who’s the guy who flies around in the sleigh?”
“That,” Green said with assurance, “is an imposter.”
“So let me get this straight,” I said. “Santa is dead, and there’s a faker riding around with flying reindeer delivering presents?”
“Exactly,” Green said.
So that’s the ticket! Someone was PRETENDING to be Santa, some burly guy dressed in a Santa suit knockoff, some guy who for the rest of the year was just a regular dude -- an accountant or a dentist or an airport screener-- with a crazy impulse to break into all the world’s houses over the course of a single night.
A few days later, Blue got on Santa’s lap and asked for a soft, green, stuffed dragon with a yellow stomach. It had to have all of those qualities. And, of course, there are many stuffed dragons in the world, but they are either green OR soft OR they have yellow stomachs. When I asked Blue if he was willing to be flexible, he said, “Santa can make it the way I want it, right? Didn’t you say he was MAGIC.”
Damn it.
Then, at about noon on Christmas Eve, Blue said, out of the blue (ha!), “I wonder if Santa will bring me an SD card for my camera.”
I snapped to attention and said, “Blue, I thought you wanted a dragon with a yellow stomach.”
“A SOFT, GREEN dragon with a yellow stomach,” he clarified. “But I also want an SD card.”
“But Blue,” I stammered, “You didn’t mention the SD card to Santa when you sat on his lap!”
He rolled his eyes. “Mommy, remember? Santa knows EVERYTHING. You did say that he knows EVERYTHING, right???”
I looked over at Michael, alarmed. He started to hum, “You Can’t Always Get What You Want.” I, on the other hand, was determined to get this right. “Uh, Michael, I whispered. What the hell is an SD card and where can I find one?”
Santa did his best. He brought a dragon that is soft and has a yellow stomach. He happens to be on the black side of green. Blackish green. Kinda like the deepest green in the forest in the middle of the night. But he also managed, on some pretty short notice, to bring an SD card for Blue’s camera, proving his ability to know everything, all the time.
I, of course, was reminded of a lesson my parents taught me many years ago. Lying is very hard. Lies beget more lies and considerable stress and panic. The truth will set us free. I think I’ll send an email to Santa, that fraud, and tell him that next year he should keep his day job.
Friday, January 8, 2010
Thursday, January 7, 2010
New Year, New Things
2010. It’s so hard to believe. Michael and I have been musing about the last decade and how much has changed since Y2K. There have been a few new degrees. New jobs. A house. A couple of kids. A blog.
Sigh. This blog.
You may have noticed the yawping silence over the past few months. I don’t know how to explain it except by saying that I have been feeling massively uninspired. And when I’m uninspired, I rarely say to myself, “Self! I know what will get rid of this ennui: Writing a long, clever essay!” No, it’s more likely that I’ll zone out in front of Facebook with a diet coke and some BISON ON A STICK.
OH YES THIS IS REAL. Minnesota State Fair meets the Wild West?
Sadly, any future clever essay writing will require everyone in my family to stay healthy. The last couple of months have been filled with the Swine Flu, the Hog Flu, the Pork Rind Flu, and the Guinea Pig Flu. Just today, I was taking a shower, thinking to myself about how I was going to sit down and finally write a new blog entry, and the phone rang. I had a bad feeling, so I jumped out of the shower and answered it. Unsurprisingly, it was the school nurse, who told me that Green had just thrown up into a trash can.
Of course he did.
And, you know, my kids are not the kinds of kids that suffer quietly. They scream and wail and make sure that everyone in the house knows the extent of their pain. And when they are not screaming or wailing, they are tormenting each other.
Last month, under the influence of piggy virus #2, I decided that we needed to get a bit more festive, even if no one felt well. So I pulled out a CD that has Christmas music from all the traditional children’s TV programs (“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch…”), and it turns out that Blue has an intense dislike of the song, “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” As if the swine flu wasn’t enough, I had the kid sitting in the middle of the room with his hands over his ears screeching, “Turn it off! I can’t take it! Please! This is killing me!”
That was all it took for feverish Green to seize the day. Every time Blue got busy doing something else, Green turned on “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” And then Blue screamed bloody murder. If Blue went into the bathroom, he would hear the song. If he went into his room to read, he would hear the song. After days and days of the music and the screaming, followed by more music and more screaming, I lost my mind. At one point, when the first notes of “Hark!“ came on, I marched out to the living room and shrieked, “Green! There will be no more Christmas music in this house! None! From now on we will only listen to Mommy’s mix tapes from the 80s!”
Oh yeah, baby. Next time you have a problem, threaten your kid with a little bit of Yaz. It totally works.
When we’re all healed, I think I need to reinvent this site a bit. I’m not sure exactly how I’m going to do that, or what shape those changes will take. You will have to stay tuned. Please stay tuned.
Sigh. This blog.
You may have noticed the yawping silence over the past few months. I don’t know how to explain it except by saying that I have been feeling massively uninspired. And when I’m uninspired, I rarely say to myself, “Self! I know what will get rid of this ennui: Writing a long, clever essay!” No, it’s more likely that I’ll zone out in front of Facebook with a diet coke and some BISON ON A STICK.
OH YES THIS IS REAL. Minnesota State Fair meets the Wild West?
Sadly, any future clever essay writing will require everyone in my family to stay healthy. The last couple of months have been filled with the Swine Flu, the Hog Flu, the Pork Rind Flu, and the Guinea Pig Flu. Just today, I was taking a shower, thinking to myself about how I was going to sit down and finally write a new blog entry, and the phone rang. I had a bad feeling, so I jumped out of the shower and answered it. Unsurprisingly, it was the school nurse, who told me that Green had just thrown up into a trash can.
Of course he did.
And, you know, my kids are not the kinds of kids that suffer quietly. They scream and wail and make sure that everyone in the house knows the extent of their pain. And when they are not screaming or wailing, they are tormenting each other.
Last month, under the influence of piggy virus #2, I decided that we needed to get a bit more festive, even if no one felt well. So I pulled out a CD that has Christmas music from all the traditional children’s TV programs (“You’re a mean one, Mr. Grinch…”), and it turns out that Blue has an intense dislike of the song, “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” As if the swine flu wasn’t enough, I had the kid sitting in the middle of the room with his hands over his ears screeching, “Turn it off! I can’t take it! Please! This is killing me!”
That was all it took for feverish Green to seize the day. Every time Blue got busy doing something else, Green turned on “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing.” And then Blue screamed bloody murder. If Blue went into the bathroom, he would hear the song. If he went into his room to read, he would hear the song. After days and days of the music and the screaming, followed by more music and more screaming, I lost my mind. At one point, when the first notes of “Hark!“ came on, I marched out to the living room and shrieked, “Green! There will be no more Christmas music in this house! None! From now on we will only listen to Mommy’s mix tapes from the 80s!”
Oh yeah, baby. Next time you have a problem, threaten your kid with a little bit of Yaz. It totally works.
When we’re all healed, I think I need to reinvent this site a bit. I’m not sure exactly how I’m going to do that, or what shape those changes will take. You will have to stay tuned. Please stay tuned.
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