A couple days ago we took our 1 year old son to the mall to see Santa. this being our first Santa outing (well, since my husband and I were young of course) we were not sure what to expect, and, to make things even more exciting, we went to see Santa wholly unprepared for any sort of emergency such as desperate snack needs, the re-emergence of a horrible diaper rash or preparation for the realities of waiting in an hour and a half long line while wearing 3 inch heels. The night started out on a hopeful note. I straightened my hair, put on a nice dress, did my makeup, put on a nice pair of earrings and even brought along a festive Santa hat to wear in, what I imagined would be, our perfect family photo with Santa. I dressed our son up in a cute little pin stripe suit with a crisp white shirt underneath, packed the diaper bag and "walla" we were ready to go. Once we got in the car, it dawned on me that maybe things would not go quite as smoothly as planned. In our rush to get to the mall before the crowds, I realized that we had not packed any snacks and Giovanni had not eaten in a couple hours. "Oh well, I thought, just a quick trip in, snap of the camera and we're out of there. How hungry could he possibly get between now and then?" Next, my husband informed me that we did not have a camera to actually take a picture but assured me that everything was OK and that he had his phone on him and we could take a picture with that. When we arrived at the mall, even though we had gotten there "early", there was a long line that consisted mainly of grumpy, underdressed patrons with several dogs barking at one another and pulling at their leashes while their weary owners cast sympathetic looks at each other. My husband, who hates crowds, began to get fidgety, Giovanni quickly followed suit. I offered to stand in line while they played on the playground. As they walked away I wished that I had not worn heels, or a dress, I wished that I had worn sweats. Still, I stood in line with the stroller, a huge umbrella (this being Portland, it was of course, pouring) three jackets (mine, my husbands and the baby's), my purse and the diaper bag. As I made my way through the line I maneuvered carefully to keep from toppling the stroller, spilling the contents of my purse, or impaling any small children with our dangerously large and pointy umbrella. When I got near the front of the line, I texted my husband and he arrived back just in the nick of time (no pun intended). Giovanni's suit was wrinkled, his shirt hanging untucked out of his pants and his hair was a mess. He also seemed more than ready to leave the mall. My husband took a test snapshot with his phone to find out the camera on his phone was not working. He began to shake and turn a little red. I offered to let the people behind us in line go ahead of us so that we could figure out the phone. I tucked G's shirt in, we got the phone working, OK...our turn...here we go. We walked up to Santa, he held his arms out to the baby, sat him on his lap and then...Giovanni lost his mind. The second he sat on Santa's lap, Giovanni's face turned bright red and he began squirming and screaming at the top of his lungs, tears rolling down his face. My husband snapped a picture (see sidebar) G kept screaming. I put on my Santa hat and stood next to him, G looked at me and screamed louder. My husband took another picture, I grabbed the baby and we left. Now, at this point, any sane parent would have quickly exited the mall but me, being the fearless (or perhaps clueless) individual that I am, decided that we should take one more family picture in front of a large tree before we left. Johnny tried to take one of me and Giovanni first. I put on my Santa hat and stood in front of the tree with our son. Giovanni arched his back and screamed like I had tried to rip off one of his toes. People were looking at us strangely. My husband suggested we grab something to eat and then try the picture thing again. We headed over to the food court and got G some grilled chicken and milk with a straw. In trying to feed him the chicken and use the straw to pour sips of milk into his mouth, we got milk and chicken juice all over his face, his suit, ourselves. Immediately after his hearty dinner of chicken and milk, G needed a diaper change and I took him onto the cramped, fluorescent lit changing room to find that an earlier diaper rash had re-emerged. He howled as I changed him, I bumped into the door, the table and most of all, I felt sweaty and like I might begin howling and crying myself. When I brought him out I can't even imagine what the two of us must have looked like, he with his tired, bleary eyes, stained, wrinkled suit and sad expression and me, red from sweating, hair beginning to frizz and limping in my high heels that had never been meant for standing for extended periods of time. I limped over to my husband and suggested we leave (after, of course, trying to get one final shot in front of the tree-Don't even ask me what I was thinking). We went over the to the tree and I snapped the final shot pictured above which I feel sums up the feel of the evening fairly well. So, the moral of the story is this. If you feel that perhaps your very young child might be frightened or daunted by the prospect of waiting in a large line only to be met at the end by the sight of a large, strange man in a big red suit with a huge beard then, by all means, proceed at your own risk. Hey, its not all bad, your child could love Santa or, you could get hilarious pictures of your child looking either happy, nervous, bewildered, or of them screaming their head off while Santa struggles to maintain a smile. But please, whatever you do, if this article has taught you anything, be sure to bring an actual camera, dress comfortably, be prepared for a long line and surly patrons and, for the love of all things holiday...BRING SOME SNACKS!!! To all a Good Night! -New Mommy in Town
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