Last year I was a mediocre Christmas mom.
The year before, I was a downright bad Christmas mom.
The year before that, it was covid and I’m not even sure Christmas happened?
And the year before that, my water broke, setting up my firstborn for the 2nd Worst Birthdate of the Year: December 27. You can guess the 1st Worst.
2023 was supposed to be my big comeback. Or maybe comeback is the wrong word, as I’m not coming back to anything; I’ve never been good at this. So, 2023 was supposed to be the year I learned how to do Christmas with kids.
I made a Google Doc called “Christmas planning.” I bought the kids’ presents in November. My husband and I took them to an actual Christmas tree forest the day after Thanksgiving (then went home emptyhanded and set up our artificial tree, BUT STILL). I took them to the store and let them pick out their own decorations, then we decorated the entire house. We made Christmas cookies with their cousins–TWICE.
Then there’s the thing I was most proud of: We took the kids to see Santa. It was our first time taking them; I had spent the previous three years feeling slightly guilty that I was neglecting my kid(s) of such a paramount Christmas experience (not also slightly not guilty because I don’t care much about photos and I knew that even if I got Santa photos, I’d never remember to display them, so what even was the point?).
Here’s the problem: Santa sucked. I made a reservation well in advance for our local Santa, because I knew the spots filled up fast. My husband and I spent the night before and morning of our reservations hyping it up: We got our kids excited to visit Santa (actually, we called him “Santa’s friend,” because we knew our almost-4-year-old would have too many questions about how Santa got from the North Pole to our neighborhood, where were the reindeer, etc.), talked about photo configurations, and helped them color Batman and Superman pictures to present to Santa.
The experience was all wrong from the beginning. We walked into the location of the Santa photos to find a cold empty warehouse with concrete floors, a single desk with a receptionist signing people in and four metal chairs. No decorations, no fanfare. At our appointed time, the photographer led us into the back room, which was just as warehouse-ish, even colder and had just a few more decorations. The North Pole, it was not. It wasn’t even as festive as your average grocery store around the holidays.
My husband and I looked to Santa, expecting him to say something. Perhaps a “Merry Christmas!” or a “ho ho ho”? But Santa said nothing. We looked to the photographer, expecting some direction. He said nothing, either. We looked over at our kids, who looked confused and underwhelmed. We walked them over to Santa, who finally said hello but didn’t ask for their names, didn’t ask what they wanted for Christmas, didn’t ask if they had been “good” this year (I was fine with that last one; problematic). We prompted our kids to tell Santa what they wanted for Christmas (a Superman toy and Olaf, respectively). We all looked at the photographer, who took two photos.
And … that was it. We left, went home, and the kids said nothing about Santa the rest of the day.
Later that evening, some friends came over with their daughter. They had been to see Santa at Cabela’s, the giant outdoor recreation store, the week before. They recommended it.
So the next day, we did a Santa do-over. We took the kids to get Happy Meals, then it was off to Cabela’s for the second Santa in as many days. Good thing we did the whole “Santa’s friend” thing; otherwise our older one would have been very confused/possibly angry. It was our first time at Cabela’s, and the kids loved the huge whale balloons hanging from the ceiling, the giant fireplace, the impressive fish tanks and the taxidermied animals, which we rebranded as “big pretend animals.” We steered clear of the part of the store I’m morally opposed to.
The Santa’s Wonderland section of the store was pretty cute. The decorations were better than the ones the day before, and there were blocks and dolls for the kids to play with. It looked more promising. But then we walked up to Santa, and it was a repeat of the day before. No hellos, no questions. This time, my son had brought a Christmas wish list. I asked him if he wanted to give it to Santa. He looked over at Santa and shook his head, asking me to put the wish list in my pocket instead. My daughter looked quizzically at the silent Santa and quietly said, “ho ho ho.” Santa responded in kind, but it was lackluster. Again, we looked over at the photographer and got a few snaps of two unsmiling kids, one unfriendly Santa, and two confused adults.
As we walked out, my husband and I wondered: Is this what visiting Santa is like? Are my memories of jolly Santas at department stores in the 90s just wrong, tainted by nostalgic rose-colored glasses, and those Santas sucked too? Or has visiting Santa changed? Have this year’s Santas been to some sort of new training? Have they all been instructed to not engage with kids, to avoid saying the wrong thing? Are they not allowed to ask what gifts they would like, to avoid future disappointment? Maybe, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame them. Whatever it is, I won’t be going out of my way to visit Santa next year. Mediocre Christmas moms, unite!