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Sunday, December 02, 2007

Who Likes Santa? Who Likes Cookies? Who Dislikes Wreaths?

We took the kiddos to go eat breakfast with Santa today. Our older son (OS) pitched a fit as he walked in and said he didn't want to see Santa. However, when Santa came to our table, he lit up. Our younger son (YS), who had been all smiles about the outing, burst into hysterical tears as soon as Santa appeared. His cries got even louder when Santa pulled on his beard (Santa's beard, not YS's beard) and told YS that he was Santa. I don't think YS liked Santa talking to him and I know he didn't like Santa.

The boys did agree on one thing. They both liked getting cookies from the elves. All in all, it was exactly how I remembered going to eat breakfast with my brother, my cousins, and Santa when I was a kid. There was a lot of crying and several meltdowns all turned to happiness by sweets.

After everyone was holding a cookie, we went to get a Christmas tree. I can honestly say that this is the earliest by far that I have ever gotten a Christmas tree. While the Big Giraffe was securing the tree onto the roof of the car (or apparently supervising the guy from the tree place who secured the tree onto the roof of the car), the boys and I were looking at the wreaths. They really did look pretty. In fact, I even told OS that he could get one. I casually inquired to a woman working there how one might go about disposing a wreath. She looked at me like I was nuts and said that I would throw it in the woods, of course. I mentioned pulling out the wires (which I am convinced I did before composting my last real wreaths, despite what the Big Giraffe says). She looked a little relieved as if I weren't as big of a lunatic as she had previously thought. She reassured me that all I need to do was remove the wires and decorations and then simply throw the wreath in the woods somewhere. The keyword being "somewhere". We don't live by any woods. This all sounds good in theory, but I noticed that she wouldn't put it down in writing for me. I don't know whether a note from a reputable nursery would hold up in court if I were prosecuted for unlawful disposal of yard waste, but it couldn't hurt. Fortunately, OS had his heart set on a nice small centerpiece of pine branches in a basket.

Younger Son Crying


A. Elliot's Lesson Learned: You are legally responsible for your own decisions regarding how to dispose of a Christmas wreath.

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posted by Alex Elliot @ 3:00 PM   5 comments
5 Comments:

  • At 12/02/2007 9:05 PM, Blogger Kami said…

    Oh the wreath, it rears it's head again... hahahaha!

    You could mail it to me, my parents have lots of bush on their land where it could happily decompose in wireless peace

    :-)

     

  • At 12/03/2007 9:58 AM, Blogger BOSSY said…

    Bossy will never stop thinking it's funny that Santa makes small children cry.

     

  • At 12/03/2007 12:37 PM, Blogger CableGirl said…

    This will be MJ's first year with Santa. If she's anything like her mother she will HATE him. (as a kid there was nothing I found creepier than the idea of a big fat bearded old guy I didn't know breaking into my house in the middle of the night).

     

  • At 12/03/2007 4:16 PM, Blogger Worker Mommy said…

    Breakfast with Santa...that sounds fun I don't think we've got anything like that 'round here. Of course maybe I'm just not looking in the right place. I think the twins are finally old enough so they won't freak at the thought of Santa .

     

  • At 12/03/2007 10:28 PM, Blogger Suzanne said…

    I love that YS's face is as red as Santa's suit.

     
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Name:Alex Elliot
Home:MA, United States
About Me:Professional Mom of two cats, a dog, an ant farm, and oh yeah...two boys: a 6 year old and a 3 year old. Also found in my house is my husband who is known on this blog as The Big Giraffe.
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For those of us who didn't get an instruction manual with our babies and for whom parenting hasn't always gone as planned. On a more serious note this blog is about supporting a woman's ability to make her own choices about parenting including the choice, for whatever reason, to bottle feed her babies formula.

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