I’m starting to feel bad for Santa.
With each passing year, my daughter becomes both more excited to see the jolly old man and less enthusiastic once she does.
Friday night in Jeffersonville was no different.
She’d been crowing all day about the Dworetsky parade and the chance it would provide to share with Santa the list of toys she started making earlier this week when someone gave her access to the Thanksgiving Day newspaper circulars.
KB Toys, look out. She’s coming.
All through Christmas cookie decorating (or in the case of the two tots, cookie sprinkle eating), all through dinner and the watching of cartoons, I heard about Santa.
When I backed in to the lot near the Three Chocolateers and roused her sleeping form from the backseat, I gave her two options: hot chocolate or Santa?
We went in to the Chocolateers, where they were lined up six deep to the counter for the elixir to ward off the cold and decided to come back later. “Want to see Santa?” I asked.
She was off, running, to the workshop next door (where Santa will be every Sunday afternoon for the next few weeks).
Throwing open the door, I expected her to throw herself at the guy in the red suit perched on the chair in the center of the room. Instead I ran into the back of her as she stopped short in the doorway.
Apparently, the man, the myth, the legend just doesn’t live up to all the hype in the eyes of a 3-year-old.
I was told that my daughter was hardly the first. In fact, her decision to slump in his lap with a grimace that made my friend Cat caption the possible Christmas card to come from the photos “are we done yet?” was one of the better reactions.
Some kids screamed. Some burst into furious bouts of tears.
My daughter simply sat there like a limp doll.
The photographer volunteering to take photos for the night (with money going to a family in need) did his best. He joked. He teased.
Santa leaned in to let her whisper. He offered candy cane bribes.
If you’d asked her to be more apathetic, she couldn’t have played it better.
Fast forward to Sunday, of course, when we hung her stocking on the living room arch.
“Yaaaaay, Santa can put little presents in there. I always wanted little presents from Santa!”
Ah, but how is he going to know what to bring?
She thought about that for awhile.
“I have to tell him,” she said. “We need to see Santa.”
Rumor has it he’s in Jeff every weekend – let’s see if he’s ready for a return visit.
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