Monthly Archive for November, 2010

Ruby is almost three years old.

*Collective Gasp*

Almost-three-year-olds have that uncanny ability to be clueless and sharp at the same time.

They’ll believe anything you tell them: But beware, they’ll not only question everything you tell them, they’ll also extrapolate on everything you tell them to its very oddly sensible conclusions. Sometimes I have no comeback for her logic. She’s got me beat and I have 30-odd years on her.

The bottom line when talking to an almost-three-year-old is:

If you tell a truth, be careful where that leads you.

If you tell a non-truth, be careful where that leads you.

Which brings me to Christmas.

To Christmas, to Santa, to Reindeer, to Elves, to Presents Under The Tree, to Cookies and Milk for The Old Man, to Conceptual and Multiple Santas.

There’s a lot at stake for Christmas.

Sure, Ruby talks to her stuffed animals and imaginary friends. Sure, she makes believe we have castles in our house. Sure, she says hello and good-bye to things from a plate of food to hippos at the zoo.

But Christmas is a whole new ball game.

You are telling your child there is a bearded man who travels the world on his sleigh pulled by reindeer to deliver presents to kids who’ve been good.

It’s like a religion. The Story of Santa.

I know she already lives in a different world – a world I encourage by treating her stuffed animals as peers, playing make-believe with her, and not pointing out that her bowl of cereal doesn’t have a conscience.

I am conflicted about Christmas because the build-up is tremendous. It is a story we as parents perpetuate with glee.

Will the end of that fantasy come with some pain?

We didn’t really celebrate Christmas growing up. We didn’t have a tree. We as kids shopped for our presents. As with all Singaporean holidays, it is wholly commercial. Perhaps there was a movie or two on telly of a man in red delivering presents.

Jay, on the other hand, has fond memories of Christmas. It was, and still is I guess, a special time for him that he wants our family to share. And especially for Ruby to remember.

We’ve had a few discussions about this, and obviously, we are going ahead with the Story of Santa.

I know that moment of realization may be messy, and a far different experience than those of giving up on stuffed animals or make-believe. People, this is Santa!

We are only beginning to understand how an almost-three-year-old processes this information.

“Where is Santa?”

“Will Santa play with me?”

“Maybe we get Santa his present.”

“Where is his reindeer?”

“Reindeer need to rest and eat snacks.”

“Why Santa is tired?”

“Where Santa live?”

“What is that white thing on his chin?”

“When Santa bring me my dress-up shoes?”

I warily make up the answers because I know she will believe everything I say.

Toothpaste with pop-up caps, not twist caps. You drop those darn caps in the sink, they fall on the floor, you lose them. Period.

Claw foot tubs are only as romantic as you are single. Time to sit in the bath, time to enjoy the curves on that beauty, time to fiddle with old plumbing, time to stub a toe on those claw feet, time to find some sort of platform to balance your soaps and shampoos…YAH. NO THANKS.

There’s a reason coffee and alcohol are not accessible to kids. Although they are both necessary to have kids.

Your body is a temple. For shoving cake into. Embrace it.

Wearing the latest trends take too much time and effort. Unless baggy tees, jeans, and a shock of unruly I-just-woke-up hair make a retro comeback, pregnant mommies of toddlers will never be trendy.

Make the friends you want to keep. Don’t bother with pretend shit.

If you never liked salad, you’ll never like salad.

No matter how long I’ve been around inches, gallons, and ounces, I still don’t get it and I miss metric.

All your latent, pent-up, childhood tendencies for dress-up will manifest itself – and then some – in your firstborn girl, who thinks Princess is a legitimate occupation.

Don’t hate on parents on planes with little kids because one day, you will be that parent.

Every little kid wants a pony or a puppy. It’s God’s little inside joke.

And of course, giving your toddler a bottle of sunscreen while she’s playing with someone else’s toy car is a direct invitation to do whatever it is she’s doing.

Fine, YOU WIN, Bump! YOU WIN!

Happy now?

You can Thank Me for that cushy abode and all-you-can-eat buffet, but really, I should be Thanking You.

No, no, Thank You.

Thank You for making it awkward to buy that Starbucks latte in the morning.

Thank You for making it near impossible to carry my firstborn.

Thank You for making me lose all intelligent thought after any carb intake.

Thank You for making it hard to stay asleep at night.

Thank You for making my ass look big.

Thank You for making it too easy to use you as an excuse to eat whatever I want, whenever.

Thank You for making it uncomfortable to eat as much of whatever I want, whenever.

Thank You for making it hard to fit into the most generous of my fat tees.

Thank You for making your imminent arrival more and more evident with each belly button pop.

Thank You for making chocolates taste even more outrageously vivid, and brussel sprouts, meh, exactly the same.

Thank You for making me believe you have a black belt in Bare Knuckled Boxing.

But most of all, Thank You for making us unbelievably excited to see you. ASAP, if you know what I mean.

So until we meet, I agree to obey the Bump, the Whole Bump, and Nothing But The Bump, so Help Me God.