Thursday, December 20, 2007

• santa vs heidi

  It’s not that I don’t love Santa Claus.  Really.  I enjoy him just like the rest of the world.  Who doesn’t love a man in a red suit willing to sacrifice body image for the purpose of jiggling when jolly?  He has a great body image.  Wouldn’t every woman love to be cheered on for the extra 20 pounds accumulated since Thanksgiving?  And the red suit?   I am sure the suit is made of soft velvet.  It would be like wearing your pajamas all day, every day.  Luxurious.   Every woman's dream.  And let’s talk about the furry hood?  Though Santa Claus and I have never met in person, I am sure that the furr is made of sheep’s wool, Minnetonka sheep’s wool.  Kind of like those slippers that I have been begging my husband to get me for Christmas.  

   

  In the enjoyment of Christmas, Santa is what he is.  A jolly man in a red furry suit who delivers presents to boys and girls.  And that is where the problem I have with Santa lies.  Call me crazy but I don’t appreciate Santa Claus taking the credit for all of MY hard work!  I don’t believe that I saw Santa in Walmart the day after Thanksgiving fighting other good, normally well-bred, mild mannered American citizens for Legos.  I don’t believe that Santa Claus went without a shower on that morning.  I did.  I rose from my warm bed to stand in line at Target at 4am.  And I hope people I know did not notice the fact that my socks and shoes did not match.  Or that I forgot to brush my teeth that morning.

   

  But let’s be clear about one VERY important fact:  Santa did not hand me $100 as I walked through the doors of Mejier in search of a Frog Webkinz.  There was not an elf standing by the front of the store saying, “Psst…Heidi.  Here’s the money for the gifts you are buying for Santa Claus to deliver to your home on the 25^th of December.” 

   

  No, I believe that Santa was propped up in bed with a cup of very hot chocolate on his right night side table while Buddy the Elf cooked him a very fatty breakfast of bacon, eggs, sausage and cinnamon rolls.  I, on the other hand, had dribbled coffee down my chin while gulping it down in a rush to run out the door in the direction of Target.  As far as breakfast goes, Santa’s breakfast was a far better fare than my own bite of toast, with no butter.

   

  But as Christmas Day comes closer on the calendar, the memory of holiday shopping fades into the background.  I will admit that my children and I have watch “Santa Claus is Comin’ to Town” at least 3 times already.  We’ve cheered with Cindy Lou Who when the Grinch’s heart warms towards Christmas.  We’ve discussed the type of cookies and milk we will leave out for Santa Claus.  And, yes, I’ve evaded the age old question of whether or not Santa Claus is real. 

   

  Well, I did all that until yesterday…when I wrapped all those presents that Santa is willing to take credit for.  While I was wrapping the presents, a paper cut on my finger brought me, once again, back to reality.  Santa Claus is not, I repeat, not going to take credit for the gifts I am currently wrapping.  I don’t want my children to open a present, squeal in delight and yell into the air, “Thank you Santa Claus!  It’s exactly what I wanted!” 

   

  Call me a Grinch.  Better yet, call me a Mom.  I want my children to open their presents, squeal in delight and then tackle me and their dad in huge hugs while yelling, “Thank you, thank you, thank you! It’s exactly what I wanted!” 

   

  I’m going to the dollar store later today to buy stuff for the kids stockings.  I’ll give Santa some joy.  He can wear the red velvet suit trimmed with sheep’s wool.  He can eat the cookies.  He can come down the chimney.  He can drive a sleigh equipped with a hot chocolate dispenser.  And, he can take credit for the dollar store items in the stockings!

   

  But the presents?  I’m taking credit for the presents, Santa.

   

  • 9:06 PM
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