My phone buzzed with the latest maternal observation from a friend. “I didn’t know you were a Santa torturer.”
Yup. Every year. We visited Santa this weekend. It did not go well. (Greatest photo ever.)
Destroy was doing well – basking in the glow of his celebrity, as he’d been recognized by several of his preschool peers – when the Fat Man arrived. The cool recirculated mall air fluttered around us as the red velour suit rustled by.
Destroy absolutely lost his cool. In hiccupping wails of terror, he collapsed to the ground. This set off Search – who I firmly believe would have otherwise been ok. (He wouldn’t have been pleased, but he would have held his composure.)
In behavioral modification advantages, this was decidedly unfortunate. Santa is officially persona non-grata. “Do you want Santa to come bring you presents on Christmas?”
“No! I don’t want see Santa. Don’t like.” His little head was resolutely shaking his decline. His eyes were bright with terror.
I’m thinking we will not be wassailing to the tradition tune of Santa Claus is Coming to Town this holiday season. (He sees you when you’re sleeping / He knows when you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good / So be good for goodness sake.) On second thought, maybe my little tough guy is onto something here. Because that is just not cool.
Destroy does not do well with characters in costumes; they are unquestionably his toddler kryptonite.
This summer we made a family excursion to the Children’s Discovery Museum. We entered the special exhibit – journeying to the world of Clifford the Big Red Dog. The muppets loved every moment. Well, almost. Upon our departure we passed a giant doghouse where Clifford himself was signing autographs.
Destroy lost his cool. There was a giant 6-foot fuzzy red dog bobbing about. As a small person just discovering the world, it certainly makes sense that if something so out of the realm of reality suddenly appears it would scare the living shit out of you. (Quite literally when it comes to diapered babes.)
Two months ago we attended a friend’s Spiderman themed birthday party. And Spiderman was there! This time the boys played it smart. They could not be tempted outdoors – not even succumbing to the allures of a bouncy house.
But again, can you really blame them? A grown man in a bright red spandex suit? (Say it with me people – spandex is a privilege, not a right.) And this one may be genetic. Their father is less than enthralled with arachnids of any kind.
At one point we opened the front door to find that a silver-dollar sized spider had woven a web across our front porch. And it was staring at us, eye to eye(x8). Jon looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and noted that he wouldn’t be going to work before turning back around to call into work on account of the Aragog clone spider residing in the refuge of Silicon Valley.
(I’m on Charlotte assassination duty in the Stream household.)
All little boys love firefighters right? (Not to mention the awesome trucks they drive!) So when the local fire battalion sent a fighter to visit the preschool, life was GOOD. Helmet, jacket – awesomesauce. Lights, sirens – absofuckingtabulous.
And then the fireman demonstrated his oxygen mask. Destroy was situated in the middle of his posse. He shot for the exits as the crocodile tears poured across his chubby cheeks. He was one again hysterical. “NOOOOOOOOOO” he wailed (seemingly without need for the oxygen being provided by that mask, actually).
But let’s not kid ourselves. Destroy has NEVER liked those. Amiright Nurse Susan and Nurse Anne? Back in our NICU days it took two nurses to wrestle the 2-week-old 2-pound person into submission so medical staff could affix my preemie son’s oxygen mask. He may have been tiny, but his opinions were quite clear.
Giant trucks that can squish you with a blind uncaring mechanical arm? That’s awesome! Chase the garbage truck! But if a character emerges from the vehicular beast? OH. HELL. NO.
I see right through that No Fear persona he’s got going on. We’ll stick to the books for now.