If I had to pick a favorite Christmas song, it's a toss up between John Lennon's "Happy Christmas" and Mel Torme's "Chestnut" song. I can't help but sing along when either is on. It's not a good thing. Instead of the back up vocals and harmony part from the back seat, I get:
"Mommy, don't sing. But I love you anyway."
We also watched this year's line of the Christmas shows, amazing they've lasted since I was a kid. Despite all the snow and winter scenes of the workshop, some of it just didn't stick. The kiddo was explaining Santa to a friend. "Santa lives at the North Pool. That's where we go swimming when we visit." Only if it's indoor and heated, Kiddo.
Next bright idea of my season was to go for the Santa photo. Usually, this is okay. But this year, the operation was being run by the Misfit Toys and Santa might have had a sketchy past even if the beard was real. Later, in the car, my child observes, "Mommy, Santa is weird."
"Yes, honey, that one was. Sometimes Santa has helpers for things like photos and it's not the real Santa." I said, in an effort to preserve some of the magic.
"Why was that Santa weird?" she asked.
"Well, honey, it's hard to get good help these days, even for Santa."
Tonight capped off the run up to Christmas, surely, though. We went with friends to see a large-scale puppet show of the nativity. I was thinking little puppets, no problem. It was like eight-foot tall puppets sitting on top of the human puppeteer, and kind of scary looking ones at that. My kid freaks out on the Easter Bunny and anything in a costume. Imagine 14-foot tall camels coming up the church aisle next to her. I could feel her quivering as she hid her face from it all. Great, I think we may have just traumatized her into being a Buddhist. So be it.
Not that we had made a concerted effort at organized religion before. I just thought it might be nice for her to think about Christmas some way other than chilling by the North Pool with Santa. Even if he is weird.