Santa Claus is Coming to Town

The tree is up - not yet decorated, but up. It smells lovely and some warm holiday feelings are beginning to stir. I've started to eschew the elevator and walk the five flights up to our apartment so I'll be able to eat as many Christmas cookies as I want - you know I love to bake. Now if the worst cold virus known to humankind will just loosen its grip on my nose, throat, ears, eyes and chest, I'll be all set. Fa la la la la.

This is the first year Violet is old enough to understand the concept of Christmas and presents, so we've been talking up the whole Santa angle and she's stoked. It's our policy not to deceive the kids about Santa being real; we just tell them the story and say how fun it is to pretend that there really is a Santa. We write him letters and leave cookies; the whole shebang.

When Molly was three we said "Santa is a character, just like Cinderella. They don't really exist - they're just pretend." She furrowed her brow, gave us a dark look and said, "Cinderella is real." Okay then!

When she was four, she couldn't fall asleep on Christmas Eve; she tossed and turned and looked anxious.Finally she said, "Mom, you and Dad are really Santa, right? So who is going to be with me tonight while you're out shopping for my presents? I don't want to be all alone." Ha! I explained that we already had the presents, and we would never leave her alone, which of course led to the next question - where had we been hiding the presents all this time? Not too much gets by her.

So tonight when the girls were playing tug-of-war over the digital camera Molly got for her birthday (unbreakable Fisher-Price style) I said to Violet, "would you like Santa to bring you a camera like that for Christmas?"

She stopped screaming "mine!" and gave the camera back to her sister. "Yes. Ask Santa. Violet cra-mea. Shoes on now. Go ask Santa. Get shoes on, ho-kay Mom?" She headed toward the door. I said that Santa was probably sleeping because it was bedtime, but we'd try to track him down at Macy's tomorrow. That's when the girls' father, who had been taking all this in with his usual bemused expression and silence, piped up.

"Hey, is Macy's really on 34th Street?"

Yes, Virginia, it really is.

"Ah, I see. It's all coming together for me now," he said.

So it seems we'll be seeking out Santa tomorrow, if not on 34th Street, then at ABC Carpet and Home. The "real vs. pretend" discussion will be put on hold for Violet until next year. Ho ho ho.

Story Time Again

Just in case you thought I was exaggerating about the library story time thing last week, the Kensington Blog has done a post on it.

See, I told you so! I did not go back this week, so I didn't witness the story time security guard. Oh, the drama.

It's a MILF-Eat-MILF World

For the past three weeks, V and I have been trying to get to the 10am Toddler Story Time at the library near our apartment. The first week we wanted to go, we ended up at the doctor's office instead, because the horrible cough she's had for weeks had gotten worse overnight. Diagnosis: garden-variety cough caused by post-nasal drip. Hmph.

So the next week, we turned up at the library at 10:01am. A librarian rushed us at the door, explaining that we were too late, we'd have to try again at 4pm, or next week, and meanwhile, did we have a flyer for the upcoming klezmer concert and the kids' reading program? Um, no. She bustled around and shoved papers at us, not content to let us browse in peace. In order to appease her, I filled out the form to get V a library card, even though I don't really think she needs her own library card yet (she's two, people!). I could hear toddlers clapping and singing behind a closed door, but every time I glanced toward it, the librarian snapped at me. "NO! You are too late!" We tried hanging out and looking at books for a while, but she kept hovering over us so we finally left.

This morning, I got V all gussied up in ponytails and a "pitty dess, mama!" and we headed out with time to spare. We walked in at 9:55 and found a long line of moms and toddlers waiting to go in the story time room. We got into line, pleased that we'd finally made it. V was smiling and excited. But as the moms started filing into the room, I noticed that they were handing the librarian tickets. Wait, tickets? I had no ticket. Several moms noticed this at the same time as I did, and they pushed past me with scornful looks.
"You have to have a ticket, you know."
"Why don't you come back at 4 o'clock?"
"You don't have a ticket?"
Was it my imagination, or were they gloating? Abashed, I went over to the circulation desk and asked where I might get a ticket. The librarian (not the overeager one from last week, but a different, angry-looking one) told me that the tickets were gone, and I should have arrived when they opened, at 9, to stand in line for a ticket. She shoved a library schedule at me.

Yeah, I have the library schedule already. You know what it says? It says story time is at 10am. It doesn't say that you have to show up at 9am and stand in line for a fucking ticket, or else be sneered at by all the other mommies and run off by the librarian. Welcome to New York, right?

Fuck story time.

I Broke My Feng Shui

I think I did something bad last week. In a fit of decluttering, I emptied out a couple of corners of our house. Good, right? But ever since, I have no energy, I can' t get anything done, and I just feel funky somehow. What did I do wrong?

Our June trip is booked - we'll be in NYC June 19-26 looking for an apartment, and OGILF will be exhibiting at the MOCCA Festival for part of that time. So I'll be traipsing around the city with my girls that week, probably paying exorbitant key-fees to look at rat-infested closets. Did I mention I'm in a teensy bit of a bad mood?

In other news, I went to the Montview Auction last weekend and had a fine time with my date, the fabulous Brian Comber, while OGILF stayed home with the girls. I highly recommend going to your child's school events and getting really drunk and inappropriate; it makes the next day's preschool drop-off so wonderfully humiliating.

I'm off to rearrange my house until I feel like myself again. I have to re-balance the chi or something, I think. Wish me luck.