Scary Elves, Youthful Santas and a Reindeer Called Rossy

Nonna samples the delights (and otherwise) of a visit to Santa

Friday this week was a first for three-year-old Luca, who had never before been to visit Santa Clause. My daughter, Giovanna, decided that this year he’d have a better understanding of the jolly old man in red, so we headed off to the nearest large shopping centre’s version of the winter wonderland.

Old enough to comprehend a little more he may have been, but he wasn’t ready for the alarming fairy/elf that greeted us as we waited in the queue. The young woman, somewhere in her early twenties, had brilliant white eye makeup on, even down to the long eyelashes. Giovanna was most jealous, but Luca was not impressed. A little boy in front of us had already burst into tears at her appearance. Luca wouldn’t even look at her. Instead, he snuggled against mummy’s shoulder, resolutely refusing to answer her questions. Not like his usual chatty personality at all.

The frightening makeup was nothing to her lack of child friendly banter. When Luca went shy, she announced that, ‘Father Christmas doesn’t give presents to rude little boys.’ She should have been wearing an ‘elf’ warning. (Sorry!) Wicked witch of the north was more like it.

 

The penguins in the display as we queued were of more interest to Luca, jogging and jiggling around as they were. Giovanna, a psychology student, questioned whether a couple of them needed therapy, judging by the way they were swaying back and forth with expressions of bewilderment. Not so much One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest as one rocked on the penguin’s nest.

Santa’s room was cosy, set up like a living room with a Christmas tree. His costume hid his tender years, though he could have done with a deeper Ho Ho Ho. Luca warmed more to him than his minions, and was thrilled to be given a fluffy white reindeer. Throwing a bit of a curveball for Giovanna, he decided he wanted a space station for Christmas. Goodness even knows where he got that idea, and by the look on Giovanna’s face, she must have been wondering where on earth she was going to buy one from. If anyone knows, please leave an appropriate comment below!

Once outside, Luca declared that his new toy was called Rossy the Reindeer. Why? ‘Because that’s what he’s called.’ Obvious really.

At lunch, Luca had no trouble relating his adventure to the middle-aged waitress. She sat and talked to him on his own level, using child friendly language. No threats were necessary. She could have taught the elves a lesson or two.

And now Luca’s gone to visit his little cousins, Phynn and Seren, and their big brother, Ben, in Wales. I haven’t been on here recently enough to announce that I’m now in possession of a granddaughter. She was born in July, the first girl in the family, including the step cousins, in twenty-five years. Her name, Seren, means ‘star’ in Welsh.

The ladies of the family are thrilled as they can, at last, buy those cute little dresses they’ve been eyeing up for so long . She might be getting quite a few for Christmas…

PS Kat finally got to use the birthing pool she was too quick to use with Phynn!


You can find the writing blog I share with others at http://writemindswriteplace.wordpress.com/

Walkie Talkie Time

Time moves on and so do my grandsons. It was delightful at Christmas, having fourteen-month-old Phynn and two-and-a-quarter year old LHG together at their Aunty Carmela’s house. They'd developed so much, even from the last time they were together, two months earlier.

As I wrote in an earlier blog, Phynn’s parents have had to lay a thick carpet on top of the terracotta tiles in their living room, due to his proclivity for launching himself onto the floor from the settee. Now he can walk properly, his new trick is to climb onto the two beanbags piled up to prevent him getting behind the settee, and launch himself from those onto the settee itself. He still has no fear. At Christmas, with a house full (thirteen at one point), he loved scampering around the chaos, being buffeted by dogs as tall as him. I’m told that barely two weeks after his first half-dozen steps, he insisted on walking all the way around a museum and would not be carried. Mmm, wonder how long the novelty of that will last.

Judging by my experience with LHG, not that long. Although a good little walker, there are many times when he will scoot in front of you and stretch his arms up. That means, “Carry me, please.” Despite his galloping language skills, he doesn’t often express that desire in words. He says an awful lot of other things though. A car journey is full of pointing and observations like, “Red bus. Green tractor. Woo woo [Emergency vehicles]. Bridge.” At the end of the journey there’s the inevitable, “Out. Stuck. Stuck!” at his futile attempts to undo his car seat straps.

I see him at least twice a week and there are always new words to be heard. His sentences are also getting longer, with things like, “Where Pa?”, “There Nonna house,” and, “It rain Nonna car window [it’s raining on Nonna’s car’s windscreen].” And despite so many items now being declared ‘my…’ (my cup, my woo woo or simply, “My!”), his house still remains, “Mummy house”. When that phrase goes from being a statement to a sad lament, we know it’s shorthand for, “I’m tired now and I want to go home to my bed.”

Poor little Phynn got firsthand experience of LHG’s “my” phase at Christmas. As yet he only gazes in bewilderment as the toy he was enjoying is removed from his grasp.

I don’t expect it will be long before he learns to grab it back and without language declare, “No! My!”

 "My!"

(With Great-Grandpa TC)