Since The Girl's first Christmas we have gone to Macy's on 34th Street for a snap with Kris Kringle. That first year Big Sister was visiting and suggested it, so we headed out in the piercing cold that made her boy scream in agony. While standing in the line with my sister, her son who was still recovering from the cold, a baby, and a boy with a wet wipe draped over his head in an attempt to tame his hat-head -- he looked more like he was waiting for an Indian wedding -- a 20-something guy explained to us that he had been coming to sit on Santa's lap every since he was a baby, and had no plans on stopping the tradition. I imagined him as a baby. I looked at my baby and two-year old and decided that it would become our tradition as well. It would mark the passage of time.
Today, for the eighth time we found ourselves walking towards the elevators in the men's department that would take us up to Santaland on the 8th floor. At the very moment we approached the elevators an enormous swarm of preschoolers shoved ahead of us. The Sister and I looked at each other, realization dawning at the exact moment... their group was surely headed for Santaland... and would surely add 15-20 minutes to our wait time.
Now, if you've ever been to Macy's on 34th you know that it houses the world's second slowest bank of elevators (the number one slot goes to the natural history museum). If you don't believe me, stand there and see how many Macy's employees start swearing up a storm if they miss/can't fit into an elevator car. So, we had a chance. We had a chance (read with appropriate dramatic emphasis). The four of us sprinted to the escalators (note: some of them still have the wooden slats on the steps, and I hear that when the big reno happens soon they might not make the cut... go see them if you haven't), and we tried our best to sprint eight flights up the moving escalators (gym class). Unfortunately, while the group of Russian tourists happily moved aside, some of the middle-aged gals were like: nope. We got to the Santaland line out of breath and just behind the school group.
Standing in line actually isn't that horrible if you're not in a rush.
Our favorite thing to do is sidle up to the elves and whisper: "What's your elf name?" Today we met: Snickerdoodle, Muffin, Sprinkles, Cookie, Prancer, Silver Mist, Zuzu, Pine Tree, and a couple of others I can't remember. Every elf smiles at this request -- it's kind of secret code for: "I've read Santaland Diaries -- I know that you're in hell right now."
This was the second or third year we've asked for elf names, but the first year I've told the kids where it comes from. We even read part of SantaLand Diaries when we got home, but I was editing so heavily it was like watching movies on not-cable that have been cleaned up for general consumption -- weird timing, strange transitions, the lingering feeling that everybody is getting a joke that you're not privy to... Maybe next year we will read a bit more of it. I guess we are in a transition from Natalie Wood to David Sedaris. Perhaps a brilliant metaphor for growing up.
In the essay Sedaris mentions that some families request Black Santa. Well, next year I'm requesting Jack-Lemmon-in-Some-Like-It-Hot Santa because that's who we had today and I can't ever go back to Run-of-the-Mill Santa. The kids are convinced that Real Santa stopped by Macy's and helped out. He was attentive and funny and completely over-the-top (but I don't think he was acting...).
Santa to The Boy: "What would you like to ask for?"
The Boy: "A genuine coonskin cap."
Santa -- in very annunciated whisper to me over their heads: "OMG. Love. It. Ugh."
We proudly wore our pins:
We walked around a Christmas Village by Columbus Circle, and as the children were being treated to a free hand-softening with Israeli salt scrubs I felt really happy for the extra time. Sure, we could go to the Christmas Village if they were in school, but now we have time to look in the nooks and crannies, and do so when things aren't quite so crowded. The man who digs up artifacts told me that I have exceptionally good children who are welcome around his stuff anytime.
Of course we did some math today, too. And this evening we went to our piano teacher's apartment and had a little Christmas carol recital.
The children were sweet. Their teacher, an opera lover, our friend and neighbor who builds us up and makes us feel well every time we run into her, gifted our family the Marx Brothers movie: A Night at the Opera. A perfect gift in every way. And we have the time to watch it... Perhaps it will be a cross-curriculum history/music/social-skills lesson.
