Tis the season to be tortured...

I only have one memory of sitting on Santa's lap. My mother had enrolled me in ballet lessons and at Christmas time the ballet teacher gave us gift certificates for McDonald's and a visit from St. Nick. All was well until I had to sit in his lap, and he put me down after I screamed for bloody mercy. That was it, no more Santa lap sitting for me, at least until I was an obnoxious 16 year old and my best friend Lisa and I drove to the mall to be, well, obnoxious 16 year olds. I am sure that picture is somewhere. The one of me in my little black leotard with tears streaking down my face is hopefully lost forever.

Now that we have Lucas, I figured I could introduce him to Santa at an early age and he would be okay with a once a year meeting. Last week I donned him in a snowman sweater and took him to the mall for his introduction.

Three clicks of the camera and he was finished.

The first picture was of a totally deadpan face. Santa was all smiles and jolly and Lucas was looking at all of the cooing adults like he was the only sane one in the room. The second snap shot turned out to be a profile shot of a totally serious Lucas looking up at a smiling Santa. The third shot was him looking right at me with a quivering lip, ready to turn on the hoses. We picked the second picture for the "official" portrait and away we went to finish off our errands. He has been pretty tame for the rest of time, but he likes to smile and point at all of the Christmas trees, as well as the garish lawn decorations, lights, candy canes, snowmen, and other assorted secular Christmas debris that looks strangely out of sorts against a back drop of San Diego palm trees.

My wonderful mother-in-law sent him two Christmas books, and when we first received them, he enjoyed looking at both of them with us. One is a Christmas alphabet and the other is a cardboard book that tells the Nativity story while playing a tinny version of "O Little Town of Bethlehem." As earlier stated, Lucas has been fine with both of them, and will happily sit on the floor while I am checking email, and "read" to his heart's content.

This morning I was at the computer and he was playing with an assortment of toys. It was really quiet in the room, and suddenly he reached for the Bethlehem book to look at it. As soon as he opened it the music started blaring and it totally scared the poop out of him. Totally not expecting to be surprised, he looked up at me and started this hysterical, hyperventilating screaming fit, complete with fat tears and gasps of breath. I thought he had pinched himself on something and I start to hold him and rock him and tell him it's going to be okay, "Here, let's sit here quietly and look at your music book..." WRONG PLAN, MOM, WHY DON'T YOU JUST GO AHEAD AND SCAR ME FOREVER! It took a good 15 minute walk around the house, looking at every picture on the wall just to distract him back to calmness, and now when we sit in the office playing, he looks at the top of the desk, just to make sure the book is still there and won't come flying off to eat his face. Part of me wants to laugh at him, because it was sort of funny, but the other part of me totally gets his fear. The five year old in the black leotard that lives waaaaay in the back of my head. Thank goodness he is too young to remember any of this.

I have about three months to prepare him for the Easter Bunny.