Santa! I know him!

Six hours later and I am still in shock. Complete shock.

2013: B discovers that she hates Santa. Santa doesn't seem too pleased with her either. 

We headed out for our annual visit to Santa this afternoon and I had braced myself for all the chaos that would ensue. I was expecting a repeat of our Easter bunny fiasco  or a picture similar
to last year's - just add a little more hair and a lot more sass.

The day started out headed for disaster. Nap time started late which meant we had to wake B up early to make our Santa appointment.

I know, I know - never wake a sleeping baby. But any Atlanta mom knows that you wake a sleeping baby for the Phipps Santa. The Phipps Santa is serious stuff. You enter a raffle in June just to get a slot to register. Just to register for a chance for an appointment. Six months before Christmas. 

Then, once you have won your coveted registration time two months later in September, you hustle to get the best time slot possible for the actual Santa appointment. You stop whatever you are doing whenever that email comes through to let you know it is go time. This stuff is serious. I mean First World, Suburbia Serious, but serious nonetheless. Rumor has it that if you no-show on your appointment you are blacklisted. People trade their slots on Facebook, pleading with friends to work something out. It is all ridiculous. But we love it. And we wake a sleeping baby to make our appointment on time.

So, we woke her up. As expected, she wasn't pleased. We soldiered on (and maybe bribed with some new books) and headed to the mall.

The minute we got there, there was angry side eye and some loud yells regarding putting a bow in her hair. Same with a headband. She asked 10 times in line to leave. She asked where her dogs were. The babies three people ahead of us howled, while the couple behind us fussed with their toddler's sweater and gave me the judgey look as I tried to tempt B with any - any, please B - of the bows we brought. Listen, lady... all you have to deal with is a pair of khakis and a Polo pull over. Get back to me when you have a girl and all the accessories and attitude that come with her. 

We filled out the wish list for Santa to read to B. We happily told B how excited she should be. It is Santa! Yay! You are going to have so much fun sitting with him! She continued to stare at us, seeing right through our fake smiles and cheer. Please don't scream. Please don't punch him in the face like last year. Please. Please. Please. 

Every bit the line inched forward, my anxiety heightened just slightly. She is going to pull his hair. The whole mall is going to hear the screaming. She is going to be missssssserable. Why do we do this every year? 

The kids in front of us went. Two smiling, perfectly matched little darlings sat on Santa's lap, smiling from ear to ear. Clearly their parents sedated them. Or bribed them. BRIBED THEM. I forgot about bribery. 

I flashed back to my cousins telling me about how they used to smuggle the Phipps Santa M&Ms. Their son would sit in his lap for what seemed like hours, smiling perfectly for the camera, meanwhile being slipped small little colorful disks of chocolate crack. Hey, you do what you have to do for Christmas photos. 

So, we leaned forward and whispered to B "If you go up to Santa, you can Trick or Treat."

Her head snapped up, eyes narrowed, and she pushed to get down from me. "TRICK OR TREATS! TRICK OF TREATS!" Okay, this might be awesome or this might backfire. It is done now. Go big or go home. 

And then.. it was our turn. She was perfect. She sat in his lap. She didn't ask for us or even seem to realize we had moved away and handed her off to a complete stranger. Maybe that is not a good thing... She listened to him and answered his questions. She discussed her boots and her pink dress. She smiled for the photos and waved to the cameraman.

It was perfect. It was unbelievable. This certainly couldn't be the B we all know and love.

RB and I watched in amazement as she behaved beautifully. Santa began reading the wish list we had put together for B. "You want a stuffed pony? Okay! New books? We can do that. Is there anything else you want, little girl?"

"Queso. Queso, please."


Yep. There it is.