There is a picture taking, sit on Santa’s lap tonight at our clubhouse. My husband, being the defacto event coordinator for the neighborhood, headed over early to get everything set up with the other parents helping with the event. He was going to be gone from four-thirty until I suppose everything is cleaned up. He told me as he was getting ready to leave that there were still slots available this year at each of the picture block windows. He also told me there would be dinner there for the children—nuggets—and I could bring the children over and not have to rustle up some dinner for them myself.
Sold! I told the children we were going over just before six o’clock. My daughter wanted to talk to Santa, my son only wanted to go and eat nuggets. And that’s pretty much what happened. My son must have eaten twenty nuggets and my daughter calmly waited in line to see Santa. Well, my daughter really wanted to eat candy canes, lollipops (from the lollipop tree) and Hershey’s kisses. Santa was second on her priority list.
The ragamuffin part was mostly what our family looked like. I had on my pajamas top with a sweat shirt over it and some camo pants. My children were in their casual, somewhat mismatched school clothes and the Polynesian sauce was mostly wiped off their faces by the time we got to the Santa’s lap portion of the evening.
Other families were in holiday outfits. Dresses for the girls and one little guy had a bow tie on. I hadn’t washed my hair in four days and had thrown it into a ponytail. Makeup? Perish the thought. My children’s hair was in disarray with my son’s hair standing up in a spot or two and my daughter’s looking like it hadn't been brushed in days (which is sort of how it always looks, even after it’s just been brushed).
But we made it and Santa was consulted by them both for presents. My son wasn’t sure what he wanted and was a little bit, “above” the whole Santa thing. My daughter asked questions and was shown Santa’s key that he used to get into people’s houses if they didn’t have a chimney.
I think they both enjoyed it, particularly the nuggets and candy canes. We’ll see if the cameraman was able to capture something magical and my family looks like we actually prepared for the evening and the photos.
After we got home I talked to my husband on the phone. He said Santa had realized part-way through that my daughter couldn’t see. He spent time letting her touch the different parts of his outfit and showing her the strip of sleigh bells he had attached to his belt. He told my husband she was very sweet and he enjoyed talking to her very much.
The Big Boy Tiny Girl Violence Event: They were in the tub tonight. All was happy. Very happy. They were splashing way too much and had multiple warnings on water getting out of the tub. When I came in and saw the mess I told them they were done with the bath and they had to clean up. My son announced he was staying in the tub forever, not coming out to clean up at any point in the future…until he died. Then he got angry and elbowed his sister twice, very hard, in the back. I lost my temper, grabbed him and swatted his shoulder, which he reacted to like I thought he would. I asked him if he liked being hit and did it hurt? He was upset. I said violence wasn’t ever okay in this house. (Saying that right after I’d been a bad example myself, I still have a lot to work on as a parent.) His sister shoved into him and whacked at him to get away from her and then he slapped her again, twice, hard, in the back. She screamed and hit him back. I jerked him out of the tub and walked him upstairs, naked and wet a full hour-and-a-half before bedtime, telling him he was done for the day and he wasn’t coming out of the room until morning.
His sister, crying downstairs, got brought up second, after I’d taken a picture of her reddening back, and was also summarily dropped into their bedroom with no clothes. I showed my son the picture, saying this was abuse and was the type of thing police were interested in seeing if there ever was a real problem in our household. I reiterated the no violence statement and then walked out with two very upset children (good). I called my husband and told him what had happened. Then, I got them pajamas. I came back into the room to tell them their father had asked that I bring them clothes for bed (he hadn’t, but he was absentee “good cop”).
When I came in the room I met with two normalized, happy children, dressed in clothes for tomorrow, talking with each other. My daughter asked me to bring the swish up, her drops and her antibiotic pill. They were getting the laser tag set on their arms and have been happily playing together for thirty minutes now.
I don’t know if I handled it poorly or well. It seemed to work though. Or maybe it backfired. I’m not sure. I guess I’ll find out in time.
No comments:
Post a Comment