The last time I was at Christmas Village in Torrington, I was sitting on Santa’s lap and trying out his sleigh as my mother snapped away a roll of Kodak film. Tonight, I was on the other side of the camera with two of my very own from Santa’s nice list.
On the way there, I feared they would figure the whole thing out. Tyler reads books and assembles Christmas trees practically by himself, while Eva writes the ABC’s and creates Michaelangelo-quality molds out of Play-doh. How would I explain to my budding geniuses why a village in the North Pole, along with its livestock and crew, was relocated for the night to Torrington, Connecticut?
As they journeyed from Santa to the twenty-point reindeer to the elves’ workshop, their eyes were full of wonder. As the night drew to a close, I thought for a moment I was in the clear. That’s when the wonder began to fizzle.
“Mama, why doesn’t it fly?” Eva asked after I snapped a picture of her and her brother sitting in the vintage red sleigh that could fit no more than one adult human body and a grocery bag.
“Come on out, Eva. There are other kids waiting,” I said, thinking it the best way to dodge the question.
“But I don’t want to get out. It didn’t fly yet.”
“That’s because the sleigh doesn’t fly for anyone except Santa. He’s magic.”
She folded her arms and dug her heels into the seat. And from the other side of the sleigh, Tyler had his own issue to resolve.
“How come Santa didn’t know my name?” he demanded.
“He saw a lot of kids today,” I stammered. “Santa gets forgetful.”
“But he watches me every day. He should know my name.”
“Just like he’s watching you both right now?” I asked, then whisked Eva out of the sleigh and carried her toward the parking lot, Tyler trailing a step behind.
“Nooooo! Santa’s sleigh didn’t fly yet!” she persisted, arms and legs flailing. “I want to fly in Santa’s sleigh!”
So much for making the cut on Santa’s nice list. After tonight, I’m positive he revisited his list and updated their statuses. Not for being naughty. They simply know too much.
