Festivus and the rest of us

Ah, Xmas.

The silly season.

In the little house at the Baghdad-end of Hampton we appear to have a split in the ranks when it comes to the festive season.

First there's the girl.

For those with a working knowledge of Seinfeld, little Miss S appears to have adopted the Costanza family tradition of Festivus (for the rest-of-us), including a fascination with alumimium poles (high strength to weight ratio so the dangling toys can be yanked upon with force - though traditionally our household has actually had a stick; seriously), airings of grievencences (i.e., lots of crying when in need of cuddles/nappy/feeding) and finally, most importantly, displays of feats of strength.

In the Seinfeld version this final aspect from Festivus involved wrestling the head of the family to the floor until they were pinned.
It could take hours.
However little Miss S has chosen to demonstrate her feats in ways peculiar to herself.
Namely: 1) a vice like grip on any finger to stray within reach, including the subcutaneous fingernail insertion (dads still too scared to cut them after last time), 2) atomic powered tummy time, completely with head raised in a super up-dog yoga pose, and 3) the most impressive feat of strength of all, her incredible tummy crunches/sit ups.

No, we've never heard of a 4 month old doing sit ups either, and yes, we're serious.

She lies on her back and lifts and holds her upper body in the air for ages, cooh'ing and ahh'ing as she goes.

The girls going to have better abba-dabba's than Sports Illustrated-era Elle. (Lock up your men folk. No, seriously. Lock em up.)

The boy on the other hand appears to be a bit of a Yuletide traditionalist; he's a Santa man.

Hence; "I phone Santa!" announces the lad at seemingly random intervals.

Case in point - family at the evening dinner table.
Boy dials north pole on imaginary phone (here's hoping he has one of those cheap phone cards).
"Brrrring Brrrring, Brrrring Brrring..."
{Dad, hiding behind little Miss' S head on the opposite side of the dinner table...}
"Hello. You've reached Santa's workshop. Your call may be recorded for evaluation purposes. To assist us to provide the best possible service, please press (1) if you've been naughty or (2) for nice."
{Boy, somewhat confused, takes a little while to make a decision:}
"1 and 2!" he announces proudly. (Score one for honesty...)

Similarly, on the way home from one birthday/Xmas BBQ and onto another, the lad decided that a follow-up call to the big man was in order, as he'd spied a "Bill&Ben" Thomas trainset that morning that he had (note, not just "wanted") to have.

Therein began a half hour conversation with the dude in a red suit.

From the front seats we could hear the following;
"Santa, how are you...?
...I check my list ok???
...I already have a guitar!
...Thomas - yes.
...Bill&Ben.
...Dad! Santa wants to speak to you!"

And so on and so on.

We were in fact heading to the (amazing) Mothers group BBQ where Santa him very self was due to pop by from the North Pole (via Highett) at precisely 5pm. Hence dad did a little checking when handed the 'phone'...

"Hello Santa" said dad, speaking into his fingers as he negotiated the partly tipsy drivers of Hawthorn East on the last Sat'dy before Xmas, wondering what is there would be a traffic infringement for chatting on an imaginary phone...
"Hmmm.... yes, he's been good.
...yes, Sarah too!
...Oh, Bill and Ben? Yes, he'd like that.
{Big grin observed from the back seat}
...Ohhh. Really. Today? We'll see you in half an hour then?
Would you like to speak to Michael?"

And so on and so on.

The end result of all this was an incredibly familiarity between Saint Nic and Master M, and hence when Santa really did turn up at the BBQ half an hour later, Master M was ready.

Front and centre, standing slap bang in the middle and within beard whipping distance of the big man the whole time; the entire kiddie cast of the Mothers group otherwise sitting politely behind him on their rugs.

"Sit down in front!" was the call from the photographer mums. (And fair enough too; Master M would have been in every shot of every child on Santa's knee.)

When eventually Santa pulled a pressie from the big sack for Master M, the lad lept onto Santa's lap faster than you can say "It's better to give than receive!".

We don't know what they chatted about, but we suspect it may have included the words "good", "trains" and "Bill&Ben".

Sarah just slept through it all of course.
Even when Santa called her name.

"Santa..." she dreamed "Phhooey... I could pin that old fat guy to the floor any day."

Merry Xmas to all our friends and family 2009



. Print this post