The Peanut has issues with Santa. And by "issues," I mean she finds him absolutely terrifying. It started when I took her to a Christmas craft show a few weeks ago. There was a room set up for making your own gingerbread houses, which I thought she'd really enjoy. But while we were waiting in line, Santa walked by, ringing some jingle bells and belting out "Ho Ho Ho!s." That was the end of the fun for The Peanut. She buried her head in my chest and refused to let go of me. We left without gingerbreading.
The next weekend, JJ wanted to sit on Santa's lap, so we headed for the mall. JJ was thrilled to talk to Santa and gave him a big hug. Meanwhile, The Peanut tried to crawl back into my womb, even though she and I were about 100 feet from the Santa Land display.
And it's not only the mall Santa who's on The Peanut's shit list. "I don't want Santa in my house," she declares.
"But Peanut," JJ protests, "Santa's going to bring us presents!"
"He can leave them outside."
"But what about the cookies? We need to leave cookies out for him!"
"He can eat them outside, too."
I've asked The Peanut what's so scary about Santa. "He has pointy boots," is the only explanation I've gotten. I'll tell you one thing, though: that dude is everywhere. If you're looking for evidence of Santa's ubiquitousness, just check out the claw marks on my neck.
Ho ho ho.
