Of all the things Ouest learned in school—good and bad—the meaning of this Santa Claus guy has to be the worst. But hey, I’m not going to be a total Scrooge, so now that she knows what’s up, the key is going to be mitigating the damage.
We took the kids to the mall for Santa, just like hundreds of billions of parents before us. Last year Ouest flew off the deep end and Santa eventually had to retreat behind his chair and just peek over the top. Lowe could have cared less. He didn’t know what the hell Ouest was getting on about, but he was happy afterwards when we hit the ice cream stand.
This year it was time for the two of them to switch places. Lowe went bananas and Ouest sat quietly on the grumpy guys knee. Poor Santa. That guy endures a brutal Christmas season the likes of which I can’t even comprehend. (To be fair to Santa, Lowe was really more upset by being taken away from the mall’s race car stroller than for being plopped into Santa’s arms.)
“What would you like for Christmas?” he asked Ouest, fully expecting an answer he could easily promise, thus ensuring that this little girl’s parents wouldn’t have a choice in the matter.
She leaned in very slowly and whispered ever so quietly, “A poke-a-knot pelota, and a muñeca.”
Yep, our little girl speaks to Santa Claus in Spanish. And this Claus guy, despite being such a world traveler, apparently relies solely on his English to get him around the globe.
A polka-dotted ball and a doll. My sweet little girl. She kills me with her innocence. A ball and a doll. Our family truly is living in the year 1966.
As for Lowe, well, he doesn’t know and he doesn’t care. Maybe next year.