Dec. 24, 2009

I took the kids to our local children’s museum for Junie’s birthday. The museum is on the second floor of a popular local shopping center. We walked into the lower level of the building, and what do you think our wondering eyes beheld? That’s right, Jolly Old St. Nick in all his holiday glory. The kids were thrilled.

My kids have waited all year for their official visit with Santa; the boys have been especially conscientious and anxious to have a good sit-down with the big guy.

We moved closer, when suddenly it happened. He smiled, and the spell was broken.

I’m sorry, but I know that Santa has a thing for cookies and hot cocoa, and I know that sugar rots your teeth, but don’t you think he’d find himself a good dentist each December while he’s stateside? Seriously, Kris was in some massive dental peril.

After a few minutes with him I was starting to see the need for the milk with all those cookies — to soften them up so they won’t hurt his gums.

I suppose this is just one more way to use Santa as a bartering tool throughout the year. During the brushing hour I can now tell my kids, “Do you want your teeth to look like Santa’s?” Nothing like striking a little Fear of St. Nick in the hearts of the young ones.

And not only was he toothless, but he talked in a creepy baby voice to my kids. Not the ho ho ho, Merry Christmas typical Kringle dialogue, but a pansy, toothless cooing that seriously had me questioning his authenticity.

You know it’s bad when your baby isn’t afraid of Santa. It’s his job to frighten them when they’re small so they’ll be worried about what he thinks of them for the rest of their lives. June, my 2-year-old, was all over this guy; it was like she knew she could take him in a biting contest, so what was the big deal?

And even after flat out telling him their names twice (a major Santa visit faux pax on his part), he continued to call Rex’s little Coo-Coo Bird “Rex” and never could figure out which one was Harrison.

Do you know how much money they pay some of these old men just to grow a beard and have a belly (neither of which takes any effort whatsoever)? Getting a Santa gig is a major money maker for the white-haired, able-bodied senior gentleman.

(For the record, the good Santas are out there. My sister-in-law’s father-in-law is an amazing Santa Claus, who, despite the cookies and milk, takes care of his oral hygiene and speaks like an appropriately ancient adult.)

But all that said, my kids were totally sold. After three hours at the super duper fun Children’s museum, what do you think their highlight of the day was? That’s right, sitting on Toothless Nick’s lap and telling him their Christmas dreams.
I guess the spirit of Christmas doesn’t really care about good teeth.

See more at Annie's blog at regardingannie.com