Here Comes Santa Claus!

We took Katelyn to see Santa Claus the other day. I had actally decided that Katie was too young for it this year, whether it be because she's 14 months or because I didn't want her to go. I never really thought I'd be one of those parents to take their kid to see Santa considering how much I hated the experience myself. I've thought about it for years now and I think that I was turned off to visiting Santa by the song "Santa Claus is Coming to Town." Sure, it's a catchy little jingle, but it scared the shit out of me as a kid. It put Santa in the role of a God, an omnipotent force who could (and would) judge me. Or maybe his role was more of a creepy old man who stalked children. Either way, it didn't sit well with my young brain. Santa saw me when I was sleeping? When I was awake? When I was showering? He knew if I was bad or good, so he had to know my deepest, darkest thoughts. Or so I thought.

One year someone dressed up as Santa on Christmas Eve to delight my grandmother's house chock full of kids--myself included. My cousins ran to greet him. I was not delighted. I hid upstairs and refused to come down until I was promised by my mom that he left. I suspected he wasn't the real Santa, but I was willing to take my chances. And I remember being very angry that he had invaded the safe zone of my grandmother's home. Wasn't he supposed to be delivering gifts, anyway? What kind of lazy-ass Santa took breaks for home visits on his busiest night of the year?

So rounding the last bit of queue and seeing the Big Man sitting there in the mall as a kid was a little like a Catholic getting to the pearly gates. You have to know that I was the kind of kid who wouldn't even steal a piece of penny candy from my aunt's store (when the rest of my cousins did). And when someone in my ninth grade history class took a copy of an upcoming test from the teacher's desk and passed it around, I refused to copy the answers like every single other person in the class. And even when the teacher publically pointed out a week later that I was the only one in the class to fail the test, I knew that I had taken the moral (if stupid) high ground. And when I found a wallet full of cash in the privacy of a public bathroom stall, I did the right thing and handed it to the guy at the service desk, even though no one but myself would have ever known I took the cash from the wallet. So, you see, I had no good reason to be afraid of Santa. My parents never, ever, threatened me with the idea of him not coming on Christmas morning nor did he ever fail to deliver. And every Christmas morning as I ran out to a room full of presents, I chuckled at my lack of belief. (I may do that someday at the Pearly Gates, but I'm still taking my chances.)

But at Cracker Barrel last week, Katie saw a Santa eating dinner (most likely right after his mall shift was completed) and started frantically waving at him. She smiled and giggled and waved like she was seeing a long lost womb friend. She's never even looked that excited to see me. So I thought maybe my personal hangups with Santa shouldn't be transferred to her. So "we" took her, even though I made Dan go up to Santa while I stayed behind and tried to look busy.

The funny thing was that she sat on his lap as still as could be. She blinked, but otherwise sat motionless. The ends of her mouth curved up slightly as the photographers made a commotion to get her to smile for a picture, but I could tell that she knew something was up. Even with her doubt, she did better on her first visit than I did in eight years of my childhood.



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I got an email the other day with the following in it:

"I just want to say THANK YOU for blogging about your birth experience. I really think that reading your story saved me from a lot of pain and trauma."

I can't even begin to tell you how warm and squishy that makes me feel. I had hoped that by writing my experiences, thoughts, and feelings out that maybe I could help someone else. Knowing that I have makes me feel great.

Car Wash Special

There are moments in our lives that you stop and think, "I should have definitely experienced this before now." It's hard to imagine that in thirteen years of driving, I could have a completely new experience.

I was driving last week when I heard a commercial on the radio for a car wash special. (My car had been used as target practice the day before by every feces-ridden bird within a five mile radius of our house.) I wasn't too far from the car wash, so I thought I'd swing by.

I pulled up to the car wash and an attendant with hair as straggly and fluffy as the wheel detailer took my payment. ($3.95! What a bargain!) He stood in front of the car and motioned for me to drive in. I preceded in, paying special attention to lining up my wheels. The car started to slowly move forward.

I was just inside the door when I realized that I should probably NOT be in drive. Should I be in park since the car wash chain would pull me? Or maybe neutral? Yeah, I think neutral sounded right. No, drive seemed to be working fine. Why didn't the mop-headed attendant tell me if I had to do anything? Sweating like a nervous Jeopardy contestant, I let my foot sloooowly off the gas petal, just to see what would happen. The car lunged forward about ten feet before I slammed on the brakes.

Whoops. I'll take Stupid Decisions for $600, Alex.

So there I sat in the car wash, embarrassed, concerned, and strangely amused. The fabric flappy things slapped at the car and soap covered the windows as I suddenly heard the muffled yells of the attendant. I looked back through the soapy window to see him standing near the rear and side of the car, hands cupped to his mouth, yelling something. He was trying to swat water away from his face.

Rolling down the window in a car wash has never been on my lifetime "to-do" list, but it has been checked off. I opened the window and the wet, angry strips of fabric slapped me in the face. Water sprayed in all directions and the best I could yell back was, "WHAT?"

He yelled again.

I actually considered for a split second pretending like I understood what he said. Then it dawned on me that perhaps his message would be important.

I stuck my head a little further out of the window. "HUH?"

(Just for the record, there is NO cool way to stick your head out of a window while inside a car wash.)

"PUT THE CAR IN NEUTRAL!" the attendant screamed. I gave him a look like heh, heh, heh, I knew that and I put it in neutral. Then I casually looked back to experience the biggest eye roll in history. I put the window up and tried to regain my composure, using some napkins to wipe my forehead.

Then I just sat there.

I thought that maybe the car attendant hated me so much at this moment that he didn't want me to go any further. Then I thought that perhaps the whole car wash karma was screwed up beyond repair. I imagined him having to shut down the whole thing to rescue my sorry, stupid ass. I could call for help with my cell phone, but could I hear anyone?

Then the car slowly moved forward. I probably waited for thirty seconds, but it seemed like hours.

Car washes are usually so quick they seem like a rip-off, but I couldn't get out of there fast enough. Up until that point, I had only driven into a car wash with a carport and put the car in park when the huge red light told me. I like big red PARK lights.

I looked into the rear-view mirror to see Katie sleeping soundly in her car seat. Luckily she had not witnessed one of her mother's all-time stupid moments, but, honestly, she probably won't have to wait long to see another.

A Guy Who Really Liked Head

I heard a theory years ago that said that we connect to people based on our past relationships in our past lives. If we hated someone in a past life, we are likely to clash with them in some form in this life. That dislike even explains how you could meet someone and instantly not like them even before you say a word to each other. The same goes for the ones we love, I imagine. Sometimes the hardest part of love is convincing yourself that your heart can be trusted.

I went out on a date with a guy in college without realizing it was a date. (I was a bit naive, okay?) We had met in a play we were doing and he and I connected, although I was never interested in him. After the play closed, he asked me if I'd like to get dinner sometime. (I know, that's a classic date, but I was naive, I tell you!) I was dating Dan at the time, but I didn't think anything of meeting Play Guy just as friends.

I walked to the restaurant and met him inside. I soon began to realize that although it had been easy to talk to him during play practice, our longer conversation was just too deep for me. He was a member of a Honors Fraternity and was very intellectual. He seemed to have a technical way of looking at everything. Humor eluded him when he'd get on a subject in which he was really interested. With Dan, every conversation I had ever had was just the right amount of intellect and levity without even trying.

As the night went on and we enjoyed some drinks, he started smiling at me and looking at me without speaking. Suddenly he asked me if a ring I was wearing on my left ring finger was an engagement ring.

"No," I said with a chuckle. "It's a garnet ring from my dad."
"Oh, thank god! You had me thinking you and Dan were engaged for a moment there."
"No, no," I said.

[Enter awkward silence here.]

"But you and Dan aren't serious, are you?"
"Well, we're not engaged, but it's serious," I explained.
"Then why are you here with me?"

He had a point, now that I think about it.

Luckily, he let the subject die. We continued to talk about various things--most of which were uninteresting to me--and then for some strange reason I mentioned my fine appreciation of the 60's band, The Monkees.

"You like The Monkees?" He was beyond ecstatic. "Did you ever see Head?"

I hadn't seen that movie, although I knew what he was talking about. I couldn't believe someone so intellectual could appreciate something so...stoned and drugged out and shriek with excitement about it, too. He went on and on and perhaps it was his beer that made him seem like far too much of a Head fan, but I realized that it didn't matter what he was talking about. I certainly didn't want to be with him and I regretted wasting an evening that I could have spent with Dan.

He said he would walk me home and we headed down the street towards my apartment. I stopped at a nearby corner so he didn't get yet another wrong idea about the night.

"Kelly, I'm in love with you."

I laughed.

"No, I'm serious. I know you said you're with Dan and I respect that, but you're the kind of girl I'm looking for. I think you should stop dating him and be with me."

This was the kind of stuff that only happens in movies, yet I was standing on College Ave. wondering how I could have two guys interested in me at the same time when for years and years before I had had none.

Needless to say, I didn't choose Play Guy. I went home and called Dan and we laughed about my evening. Yes, he knew I was going out with another guy, but he later told me he didn't want to seem possessive and tell me not to go.

I asked him why he wasn't afraid I would be interested in the other guy and he simply said, "Because I love you, Kel." And he was 100% right.