DDOL: Post-Traumatic Santa Disorder
It was not a good day. I think that I am being punished for all of the good, fun days I’ve had this week.
L was kind of a grump when he got up and we had plans to meet some friends at the mall. We made it, but we were late because we were shopping at ToysRUs for this
to go along with L’s super cool kitchen, but they don’t have it. Bastards. However, while I was there, I found a cute xmas outfit for L.
It came with a turtleneck and black cords. Was searching for shoes, but they didn’t have L’s size in the ones I really wanted. I found a pair that will do, but this spontaneous shopping made me late to the mall.
Managed to throw L in his stroller (didn’t even stop to strap him in) and run into the mall with amazing agility, considering I was wearing my tall boots and the wind was whipping both of us. L thought it was hilarious, but he doesn’t have hair problems or chapped lips to deal with. While at the mall, we ran into Santa while on our way to the Jones Store. I thought it would be fun to swing by and say “hey” to Santa, but L wasn’t so hip on it.
I’ll not mince words. He wigged.
I’m not sure what I expected. Curiosity, perhaps? Having to hold him back from grabbing Santa’s big, gold buttons or pulling on his beard, maybe? The kid is really not afraid of people. I certainly didn’t expect him to dig his fingernails into my jugular in an attempt to avoid Santa. But then I got to thinking about it and really, why shouldn’t he be a little freaked out? A strange man in a weird red outfit with a long, white beard waving at me to sit on his lap would scare me too.
L was quite obviously a little traumatized. And that’s why I blame the rest of the day on Santa Claus. It felt like total chaos, so you get to read it that way. Here’s how it went down after we left the mall.
We’re on our way home and L falls asleep in the car. “Yesssss,” I think in Napoleon Dynomite-ese, “he’ll take a good nap.” Nope. Child wakes up to eat and then will. not. go. to. sleep. Child screams for awhile, which he sometimes does, but does not relax. Decide that he is having flashbacks to Santa. Feel terrible for exposing him to an anagram of satan. Child must need Mama to rock him. On way to rock him, hear phone ring in the distance. Am unable to locate phone. Where the hell did I put it? Rocked, rocked, rocked for about 20 minutes. He sleeps on me. Decide to try to put him in bed because have many, many things planned for duration of nap. (Dumb, dumb, dumb.) Child wakes up and hollers when he sees me leave room. Note to self: Do not jinx naptime by planning to do things. Give child a few minutes to see if he will sleep and go downstairs to look for phone and determine cause of incessant whining by Charlie. Give Charlie Macey. Whining subsides. Still no phone and child still crying. Quickly email people to call me so that I can find phone. L still screaming. Run out to car to locate missing diaper bag item. Find phone on floor in garage. Yay! Decide to try rocking again. Tell self, “will not try to put him in bed this time. Will sit in chair until he awakes.” Rock, rock, rock. Phone rings. Rings again. And again. Have good friends who respond to emails. Forty-five minutes pass. L FINALLY sleeps - soundly. Am falling asleep in uncomfortable chair. Decide to move to bed and take L along so that if he wakes, will be able to calm him back to sleep. Move goes amazingly well. He sleeps on my arm. Not comfortable, but better than chair. I drift off and phone rings. Such good friends (seriously). Twenty minutes later, hear knock at door. Ignore. Hear another knock at door. Still ignoring. And then doorbell rings. Dogs bark. Can not ignore. Three dogs barking sounds like poorly tuned symphony. More like cacophony. Am trying to make them be quiet without waking child, but dogs will not stop. Try to cover child’s ears, but child wakes up and cries (of course). Storm out of room with child and go to see who is determined to see my face at door. Plan best way to upbraid UPS/FedEx/Magazine selling person on way down steps.
But, is not UPS/FedEx/Magazine selling person. Is husband.
Husband has borrowed truck from friend to cart home sauna for basement. Has no garage door opener and doesn’t remember to use keypad until too late.
Now dogs still barking, child wide awake and Mama’s patience has been tested.
Patience fails - all traces of patience have left the building. Feeling of defeat overrides feeling of joy at having husband home early. Solution: Eat sugar cookies.
MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM. Butter, powdered sugar and almond extract purse through my veins and ease the pressure like heroin. (Or at least the way I imagine heroin…like when the guy sinks into the carpet in Trainspotting.)
Sugar high doesn’t last long and am so very tired. But have to help husband unload sauna and carry pieces into the basement. UGH.
Finally get child in bed and finish helping husband put sauna together. Child sleeps like the dead.
Crawl in bed and attempt to sleep so that this icky day will end faster.
Tomorrow has to be better, right?
