A Visit with Santa

      It began with a grain of inspiration. Actually, that’s not true. It really began with a trip to the mall with my youngest the week of Thanksgiving.  We did everything wrong. We showed up precariously close to lunchtime, then went into a toy store to purchase something for someone else.  He strained against the stroller straps and there was an incessant torrent of language- some words and phrases I understood a little too clearly.  In a moment of desperation, I promised he could ride on one of the little trucks in the food court, all the while running through my head how long it had been since his flu shot. 

     Then we got back downstairs and there was Santa. November, and he is set up in all his glory, among a 2 story Christmas Tree and oversized Sleigh background. He leaned against the back of a red velvet sofa, relaxing as people streamed around him. He looked over at us and waved as I pointed at him. 

    “See that guy? That’s Santa. We are going to see him, and I want you to sit on his lap so I can get a photo of you smiling. In return, he will make sure you receive a special gift on Christmas morning.  I know it sounds odd, but this is a request from your mama. Does this make sense?”

    My sweet baby looked up at me, wheels turning. Finally he pointed beyond Santa, and said “Mama, look at that elevator! I want to go on elevator!”  I went through the Santa spiel again, hoping that the importance of it would somehow come through. He began to yell at me and I said, “Sure, sweetie! We are going home for lunch right now!” It wasn’t until we were in the parking lot that I finally understood he was crying about the ice cream truck. 

“Ice Cream Truck! ICE CREAM TRUCK!” 

I had forgotten to take him to the food court to ride on the ice cream truck.  It was a really great parenting moment. 

Fast forward two days. I decide I’m taking the kids on a weekday right at 11 a.m. when Santa arrives, and we will be first in line, it will take 5 minutes, and then I will reward them. The morning of the proposed visit I become insane. 

“Everyone brush your teeth! BRUSH YOUR TEETH! WHERE ARE YOUR SHOES? We need to go go go!” 

I rushed the kids into their precious Christmas outfits and herded them into the car. We were only a few minutes away from Santa but you never can tell what is going to end up on the front of someone’s dress or longall.  We arrived to find that we were not first. There was another family in front of us. A mother and her mother with two children wearing fluffy red outfits. In front of them stood an older lady, alone. And over next to the kiosk that advertised reservation check-ins (because now you can actually make a reservation to see Santa), there was another kid, alone in a sweater vest that looked exactly like the one my mom made my little brother wear growing up. 

But I plastered a smile on my face, confirmed with one of the elves that I would get in soon, and waited. I took note of Santa’s milk and cookie breaks at 2 and 6, and the best placement of my kids. One would be on the right knee and the other would stand close but not actually have to touch the man in the red suit.  We waited. My daughter held the list that she had painstakingly worked on, cutting pictures out of the Target toy catalog and gluing them to a sheet of paper for him. My little one just kept glaring at me. 

We paused to take a few practice pictures in front of a Santa backdrop that you had access to while waiting in line. Everyone smiled. 

“This is great, guys! Okay, so when we go up- yes I know you’re not going to touch him and that’s okay- I am going to put your little brother on his lap and then you need to stand near by. See that lady with the camera? Just look at her and smile and that’s it! You’re finished and get a treat!”

“What kind of treat?”

“Um, what kind are you thinking?”  I never answer with an actual treat until I figure out what kind of situation I am in. 

“Cupcake.”

“Done.”

“Ice cream truck ride.”

“Done.”

We walked up to Santa, who greeted us with a loud “Ho Ho Ho!”. I explained that neither kid was feeling great about this meeting, and that one would sit on his lap while the other stood nearby. Since he’s Santa, he gets it. 

“Of course.” He said, smiling at both. “Whatever helps them to be most comfortable.” 

I ignored this and basically threw the baby at him, stood my oldest so she was looking in the direction of the camera, and dodged behind the camerawoman. And I waited. She waited to. 

Then the struggle began. 

“Look this way! Hi guys! Can you look over here? What am I holding? Is there something silly on Mommy’s head? No, no, don’t look at the- wait. Are they looking at the elevator?”

It was going up and down in the same rhythm it had every day for decades, unaware of the chaos it was causing below.

“Have y’all ever considered having Santa face the other way? So the kids aren’t staring at the elevator?”

“We keep requesting it.” Said the elf cheerfully. “I don’t know why they set us up this way- every one just wants to look at the elevator.”

Fifteen pictures later, we called for a break, and the kids walked towards me, hair slightly more askew than before, and with expressions that suggested maybe they needed a little coal in their stockings. 

“Well, let’s see what we have. That’s a… well, that’s a nice one of her. And he looks okay in this one. Nope, this one they’re both looking at the elevator. Okay, in this one she’s looking down. Hmm.”

This went on as two other families came, had their photos taken with Santa, selected the perfect one, paid and left. My stomach began to growl. We were pushing against lunchtime yet again and I wondered for the love why Santa couldn’t open at 10. 

“Would you like to just try again?”

There it was. The dreaded question. The question that meant the photographer was feeling uncertain about the session. The elves gave me looks of pity. 

“Yes!” I finally said triumphantly. “Yes, we will try again.” 

This time I got on my knees and at eye level said this.

“Mes Petites, listen up. We need this to work. And if it does I am willing to give you lots of things. Things like Chick-fil-a and toys. Do you understand what I’m saying?’

Little one looked me in the eye and said “I don’t want to do that.” 

It’s his new favorite phrase. 

My daughter said, “I can do it.”

So back we went, back out before everyone who was trying to knock out their Christmas shopping reasonably early.  We did a SECOND SESSION WITH SANTA. And went through about fifty new pictures. Let’s always make sure the elves work hard, right? And I found one. One in the fifty in which both children are looking at the camera and have reasonable expressions on their faces. But I did buy a copy of the other. The other in which Santa is grasping at my youngest as he lunges from his lap, catching his sister’s skirt on the way down. Her face is in between- she is smiling but starting to realize that things are falling apart and could be affecting her ability to get a cupcake and ride in the ice cream truck. 

After this was done, we rode the very elevator my son had been staring at for the last hour. A woman scooted on right after us. On our way up I pointed out the perfect view of the Santa set up. 

“I saw you earlier with them, trying to get their picture done. Did it work out?” She asked. 

“Yes,” I said, “But I worked hard for that picture.”  

I showed it to her. 

“Yes, you did! Wow!” 

The doors slid open and we went our respective ways. But as the kids hopped on the horrible ice cream truck and I prayed for one more week without an illness, I realized what had occurred. A complete stranger had seen our saga and thought I wasn’t going to be able to make it happen. She had looked over at us and assumed I would give up, we would leave, maybe to return, maybe not. Instead, things had gone in the opposite direction. I had become a super mom. A mom who doesn’t just leave when things become horrible, but a mom who says no more. A mom who starts bringing out the big things like cupcakes and fast food and toys before Christmas, because we know what’s important. 

I’m posting the best picture of Santa with two kids I have ever seen. Kids are smiling, sitting nicely and looking at the camera. Santa has a jolly expression on his face. This was not our experience but proves my point beautifully.