When Lover fo’ Life and I found out we were having a baby, we discussed all aspects of rearing a child and began strategizing for the best possible way to raise her. Clueless idiots that we were, the two of us truly thought we had all the answers (like every expecting first time parent.) Of course, parenthood is all about the universe telling you that you’ll never truly have your sh*t together, ever again. One thing we neglected to plan for was how to deal with Santa, the first elaborate lie of childhood.
There are two schools of thought when it comes to Santa: 1. Parents who hate lying to their innocent little lambs, and 2. Parents who go over the top elaborate to prove the fatso exists.
My folks were in the elaborate camp, and my gullible ass believed them until I was in 3rd grade when my mother finally looked at me and said, “Oh C’mon! You know it’s me and Dad!” Only I didn’t, she blew my 9-year-old mind. I’m not telling you this story to make y’all hate the jackal who birthed me, I’m merely pointing out that I spent a near-decade riding the Santa Express. So it would make sense that I’d want to provide the same child-like wonderment to my offspring.
Lover Fo’ Life is much less dumb and far more practical than yours truly, he doesn’t take any of this Holiday nonsense too seriously. L4L’s take on it is “Sure, we’ll do the Santa thing, but I’m not going out of my way to deceive her, she’s pretty quick to detect bullsh*t.”
Christmas one and two with Angry Baby were a cinch, she played with wrapping paper and loved being passed around from relative to relative in a marathon of non-stop attention. Santa was alluded to, but never seriously considered because homegurl was too busy ripping shiny paper shreds.
She’s now three, and this Christmas is the first year that Angry Baby has any clue as to how the whole Santa Claus business works. She vaguely understands that a morbidly obese man, dressed in red velvet flanked by a bunch of little people, will creep into our house in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, and gift her with treasures. A couple of weeks ago, I asked her what she wanted Santa Claus to bring her for Christmas, and she excitedly responded, “A BIZZY BEE, MOMMY! I WANT SANTA CLAUS TO BRING ME A BIZZY BEE STUFFIE!”
For those of you lucky enough to have no idea what a Stuffie is, I say to you: “Congrats on having a life, and allow me to explain.”
This time of year, various Telebrands AKA “As Seen on TV” items are trotted out and heavily advertised as gifts. Because selling to kids is as easy as farting at a Chili cookoff, many of these hokey products are STUPID toys, enter the Stuffie.
At a price tag of thirty dollars a piece, Stuffies are stuffed animals with 7 zippered “secret compartments” AKA pockets, that kids can stuff sh*t in and hide away. I know what you’re thinking: “Wow, Stuffies would be a great way to sneak booze and weed into the Jimmy Buffett concert!” And you’re right, no one would suspect an adult carrying around an stuffed animal of any nefarious doings. The Stuffie, while a perfect vessel for secret spy microfilm, an extra knife for the knife fight, or the recipe for Coca-Cola, is mainly utilized by kids to keep other kids from playing with their favorite crap. DID I MENTION THAT THEY ARE CHARGING 30 BUCKS FOR THIS 5.00 toy?!
Well, guess who got to order a stupid Bizzy Bee at the end of November? I did. The bee is safely hidden in a guest room only to be revealed Christmas morning, Angry Baby’s FIRST and ONLY Santa wish was granted before Thanksgiving.
Here’s where the true “Rant,” of this post kicks in…
In the weeks leading up to the Holidays, several folks have asked Angry Baby, “What do you want Santa to bring you?” To which she always responds, “a Bizzy Bee!!!!” More often than not, the response from GROWN ASSED ADULTS IS:
“That’s all!? You don’t want Santa to bring you more presents!? What else do you want?”
What in the fresh Hell kind of f*cking response is that!? And WHY are the people interacting with my child drilling this greedy mantra into her innocent and sweet noggin?
Hey guess what a**holes, Angry Baby is mercifully still in the generous and NON-SELFISH, NON-MATERIALISTIC part of her life. Instead of acting like something is wrong with her for “ONLY” wanting one gift from Santa, why not praise her for having a firm grip on what she wants in this world?
Or better yet, why not remember that there are kids who live in garbage piles and she’s lucky as f*ck to be in the land of the free and the home of the buying crap we don’t need!?
At the very least, people need to shut their dogglammed mouths when discussing Christmas lists, why? Because in the end it’s THE PARENTS who have to shell out for the Santa’s miracles.
If you’re my friend and you tell my kid she’s not being greedy enough at Christmas because she’s only asking the wheezy old queen in big leather boots for one item, guess what? I hate you. I’m not only judging you, but also making a conscious promise to spit in every glass of egg nog and mug of hot cider I serve you this season.
This year, Lover Fo’ Life and I get to experience our first, “Santa WIN” on Christmas morning. Angry Baby will get her ugly, overpriced Stuffie, and fill it with who knows what (spoiler alert: it’ll be rotting food and Cheerios,) while I have to sit there and not take credit for listening to her wishes and being awesome at shopping.
Where will our relationship with the silverbear known as Santa take L4L and I, who knows? One thing is for certain, while I thought I was going to be the elaborate sleigh bells at midnight, sprinkling glittery “magic dust” on the fireplace kind of parent, I’m slowly realizing most of those types are the same people trying to pump my child’s gimmie list.