A bike? WTF, Santa!

As any good mom will do, I had been holding the "Santa sees you" concept high over Shawn Joaquin's head for weeks whenever he assaulted me with a "NOOO-AH! NOOOOO-AH! I NOT GOING TO DO THAT!" protest when told it's nap time, bedtime, bath time, mealtime or any other time that did not suit his personal schedule. I was, on occasion, tempted to go to 1-2-3-No-Santa-This-Year, but a fear of giving him too much fodder for his inevitable therapy sessions held me back. To add the story of how Santa didn't come the first year he actually believed in Santa — all because he said NO one too many times or drew back his little hand to smack mama's head— just seemed far too cruel and potentially embarrassing. So instead Shawn Joaquin lost television, Spiderman, Mickey Mouse and the privilege of roaming freely about the house rather than enjoying his fourth time-out of the day. So it was with great joy and anticipation that he awoke on Christmas day, ready to see what Santa had brought despite his 3 hours of wailing in bed the night before — protesting sleep, even though he knew Santa only arrives when children are sleeping — and his pre-dawn wake up on the Christmas morning.

Just days before Christmas, Shawn Joaquin had announced that Santa was bringing him lots and lots of Diego toys. Whenever asked about Santa, he would respond with something along the lines of "yeah, that fat guy who is bringing me lots and lots of Diego toys and animals and more." We, of course, had purchased him a classic Red Flyer step trike with streamers and a bell that shocks the senses, all in the hopes of encouraging more outdoor activity and better coordination. But not wanting to ruin the illusion his first year of faith in Santa, I did a quick online order for two Diego vehicles with accompanying animals and action Diegos. As Shawn Joaquin raced upstairs, I got the camera ready to capture his joy at the shiny new bike and the packages stacked around it.

WHAT?!
IS?!
THIS?!
WHERE ARE MY TOYS?
I WANT TOYS!
I WANT DIEGO TOYS! NOW-AH! NOW-AH! NOW-AH!!!!

And thus began the new Season of Greed and the introduction of a character not previously revealed in Shawn Joaquin's psyche — the GIMME GIMME GIMME boy. In years past we could barely hold his interest in his Christmas stocking before he wandered off to read a book or explore the underside of the coffee table, let alone get him to open a gift. This year was a frenetic display of gift-wrap ripping, regardless of whose name was on any given package. At one point I found a beautiful gingham photo album meant for my mom in his hands, a look of disgust on his face as he tossed it aside and dove for yet another package that might possibly contain something more appealing...perhaps with moving and soon-to-be broken parts or a thing that shoots stuff at the unsuspecting little sister walking by. Each new toy was greeted with a quick "WHAT IS IT, WHAT IT DO?" before being tossed aside with the same enthusiasm as the photo album.

Gregg blamed preschool, I blamed the cookie I gave him to keep him in bed for another 30 minutes, and my parents assured us it was all normal 4-year old behavior. Regardless, we have pledged that next year there will be ONE gift from Santa (a toy that will not be obscured by the false vanity and annoying obstacle of gift wrap) and one gift from my parents. His gift from us will be a visit to his toy shelf to choose those items he wants to donate to children in need, perhaps followed by a trip to Peet's for steamed milk, banana bread and a talk about the spirit of giving. It's that or a swift kick in the butt. Holiday jury is still out on that one.

Happy holidays to all. Now where are my goddamn toys....