As we stood, rather patiently, in a long line that wound gingerly about giant candy canes and festive gargantuan presents I had a single thought. "Jonathan". Perhaps not so much a thought as a forced mantra. I don't know anyone named Jonathan. You see Jonathan was a four-and-a-half year old boy and the mantra was being chanted by his mother. "Jonathan. Jonathan. Jonathan! Jonathan!!". You get the idea.
You see, the hubby and I decided the night before to brave the mall for the all important Santa Photo Opp. We were pleased upon arriving at Santa's Winter Wonderland (located conveniently in front of J.C. Penny) that the line was only 50 deep. With the frantic cry, "Let's go girls!" we rushed to meet the end of the line lest we find ourselves in position number 52!
We made it!
Glancing around I noticed that Santa would be taking a break at 3 o'clock to 'feed the reindeer'. It was only around 10:30 am... so we felt confident. It was then that I saw Santa open the aspirin container.
Within 10 minutes a rather large elf, with commanding presence, came to the front of the line (I had binoculars). She informed us, via megaphone, that Santa was taking a breaky-poo; not to return for 20 minutes. I don't think I need to tell you that there was an instantaneous and tangible chill in the air at that moment. It was as if every mother ,in the now very long line, turned into an icy harpy (and a few Dads as well). Before the last crackle of the megaphone ceased, the muttering had grown to outright bitching.
The bitching, however, served as a delightful and colorful icebreaker and within moments we were chatting it up with other 'old-timers' (as the line was now so long, the first 60-70 were now feeling superior to the newcomers).
Our conversations turned from, "Santa's probably getting a snoot full" and "Bet he's having a cigarette..." to "Your son is soooooooooooooooooo cute!", "Breast or bottle?" etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. It was as if Santa's break, now approaching 30 minutes, had never occurred. We were all a bunch of merry makers! Christmas cheer abounded!
Within a few hours we were within eyesight of that red-suited bastard! And I must say, he was magnificent. I found myself envying anyone around me that was under 4' tall. Why, I wanted to sit on Santa's lap.
It was time. We ushered the girls (we have two of them) up to Santa. And that, my dearest reader, is when all hell broke loose.
Our 18 month-old had already sized Santa up as a threat. Within three feet of the throne she began what can only be described as banshee-like screaming. I hesitated to put her on St. Nick's lap. Our older daughter, nearly four, sat gingerly upon Santa's knee and, screaming sister be damned, went on to tell Santa that she desired all things dinosaur related.
I sat the screaming meme onto his lap and I hesitated... then Santa said, in his great wisdom, " Step away Mom".
Here it is:
