Build Your Wagon, and Come Along!

Our Christmas this year was one of firsts: our first Christmas living in California; Sumie's first Christmas as a full-fledged doctor; my first Christmas as a stay-at-home dad; and Mimi's first Christmas when toys meant more than wrapping paper.  It was also the first year that we had to spend considerable time not only opening gifts, but building them.  Me, I actually love this.  Normally. 

Building anything with Mimi's help requires, how shall I put this, a bit more patience than I was born with.  Or will ever have.  Or God every expected of anyone.  She's a task-master with the unfortunate habit of flinging tiny nuts, screws, bolts, and washers great distances while screaming.  This is the Mimi school of management.  I will say that it's an effective motivator.  Whatever project you're working on, if she's helping, you'll try to finish as quickly as humanly possible. 

This year Grandma and Grandpa gave Mimi and wonderful red wagon.  In a box.  Unassembled. 

"No problem," I thought, and went to fetch my tools.  Mimi was intrigued by the wagon's many functions.  Seats up, seats down, one seat up and the other down.  The combinations were endless!

Normally, putting together a wagon like this would take me at most 10 minutes.  But wagon building, as I found out, is far more difficult when someone insists that the wagon be occupied throughout the construction process.  It takes even longer when this  person also screams, throws your tools, and drools on you.  And there's nothing you can do about it because the person is too cute.  And don't be fooled by my T-shirt.  No amount of Ivy League education will prepare you for the wrath of a toddler waiting for her new toy. 

After a while, Mimi stopped "helping" and just sat there wondering when her incompetent oaf of a father would finish. 

And do you think she thanked me once the last nut was tightened?  No.  She just wanted to know where I'd pull her!

Mimi loves her wagon.  As I was washing the car last night she pulled it around the empty garage, pretending she was heading west.  I didn't have the heart to tell her that we were already about as west as one can go.  Soon she'll be pulling her stuffed animals down the block with it.  Hmm, maybe I can send her on a grocery run sometime soon.  I wonder if Safeway will sell beer to a toddler on the basis that she can't open the bottles.

Santa = Screaming and Anguished Newborns and Toddlers, Annually

My family has a Christmas tradition of playing Santa. 

It began with my Mom's father, who donned the red cap each year for his son and three daughters.  Years later, my father followed in his footsteps, bringing one special gift to my sister and I  every Christmas Eve.  Around 8pm, after Dad had excused himself with an upset stomach or severe exhaustion (in later years, my sister and I would encourage my father to "go take a nap" on Christmas Eve), we'd hear sleigh bells coming up the porch to the front door.  Santa would sit with us, share the presents he'd brought, get assurances for our behavior next year, and then leave with a cookie or two.  And he always wore the hand-made red felt suit crafted by my grandmother.  The same suit I wore for Mimi two nights ago. 

On Christmas Day, Sumie, Mimi, and I gathered for a family party in the east bay.  This was with my step-father Randy's side of the family.  They had, thanks to my mother's encouragement, adopted an annual visit from Santa.  For the past several years, Jeff had played Santa for both his own kids and his brother's.  But the eldest, age 8, was becoming a little skeptical.  It was time for a change, so I agreed to take on the challenge.  After all, it would be Mimi's first visit from Santa.  Maybe she'd take to him if he were more familiar. 

Santa came in with sleigh bells ringing.  The kids flocked to the door.  Even Mimi.

The three boys - even the doubting Thomas 8 year old - had a wonderful time with Santa.  The two little girls, both younger than the boys, had a different take on the fat man's visit.  Lucey, who is 2 years old now, was scared, but still brave enough to sit next to Santa under mommy's careful watch.  Mimi, however, wanted nothing to do with the loud, bearded, and fashionably questionable visitor. 

Here's a picture of Sumie, Mimi, and I before I dressed as Santa.

And here's one after.

Mimi's rejected me countless times, even kicking and screaming, but never did I think I'd inspire such abject terror in my little girl.  At least Sumie was brave enough to give Santa a little cuddle before he had to head back to the north pole. 

It was a wonderful Christmas holiday.  Incredibly busy - hence no blog posts - but wonderfully well spent.  Though this was technically Mimi's second Christmas, I think it was the first one she really enjoyed.  Apart from that visit from Santa.  I wonder if she'll feel differently next year.  I'll probably play him again.  And, most likely, I'll be rejected.  I guess my years in high school were good practice for playing Santa for toddlers.