So much for Santa

Yesterday the grocery store had a Santa standing around near the checkout lanes, handing out candy canes.

When I saw him (soon after we got inside,) I thought, "Great! Won't the preschooler be excited? She'll get to see Santa!" Ummm, no. He was busy talking with another child, so I hung around, waiting for him to be done. When he was I turned to the preschooler and, with a big smile on my face, pointed out Santa to her and asked her if she wanted to talk with him.

She hadn't noticed him up to this point, too busy covetously fingering a balloon display to notice anything else. She looked at Santa, and instead of the big grin I expected, started to back away. She made sure there was a display and myself between him and her and shook her head emphatically.

"No," she said. "I don't like dat Santa!"

"But it's Santa Claus, sweetie? Remember Santa?" I asked.

I found out what writers mean when they say someone "muttered, darkly." "He not my best friend," she told me in a mumble, her shoulders slightly hunched and her face angled downward as she looked up at me with her eyebrows furrowed together belligerently.

Last year, an attempted visit with Santa did not go well. I realized it wasn't going to happen this year, either.

"Is he scary, honey?"

She nodded slightly, keeping an eye to Santa to make sure he didn't come too close.

"Well, you stay on this side of me, OK? And I'll make sure he doesn't come near you."

As we walked past Santa, she put her hands over her eyes.

The rest of the shopping trip was complicated. Luckily, the baby was in a compliant mood, or it would have been a nightmare. We couldn't go anywhere Santa might be. Every so often the preschooler would stop and refuse to go any further.

"No! We have to go dat way!" And she'd point in a direction away from Santa. Once I had to pick her up and carry her to calm her down. Even pointing out that Santa was giving out candy wasn't enough to persuade her to go up to him.

Santa was out of sight as we went to check out, another piece of luck. I wasn't sure how I was going to persuade her to come that close to him.

Even on the way I home I could hear the occasional mutter from the back seat, "He not my best friend."