There are some facts you can’t escape.
Almost a year ago, my husband and I were making the Terrific Toddler a big Saturday breakfast. A breakfast he won’t eat, but I feel as parents we have to keep offering him food. We made blueberry pancakes, eggs, and bacon. I went to dump out the hot grease, the husband says “wait, we need to save that. I cook with it.” That is why his food tastes better than mine. Bacon grease, YUM.
He grabs a ramekin, holds it over the sink, and asked me to pour. There are three college degrees hanging in our bathroom. Yet, no one bothers to think that pouring hot bacon grease into a tiny little bowl is a bad idea. It’s a HORRIBLE idea!
Moral to the story, I miss the damn little bowl. Searing bacon grease splatters all over his wrist and hand. I stand there in a daze, frozen. I can’t talk. I don’t rush to grab the aloe. My only reaction is to hold the pan and look stunned with my mouth hanging open while big bug eyes are coming out of my face. He is screaming in pain.
It’s a fact, I’m a freezer in a panic situation. Actually, in almost all situations. Even saying words out loud can cause me to become a bumbling idiot. I have grand plans. I try to think of what I would say or do if something like a home invasion happened. In my head, the plan is to grab the toddler and lock ourselves in the attic with weapons where I proceed to call 911. I don’t know if this is a good plan or not, but I do know I will probably never leave my bed. I will be pissing myself while having a panic attack and freezing.
We went to see Santa on Sunday. He had just arrived to his Throne of Lies, and no one was in line waiting to see him. The Terrific Toddler was outfitted in a shirt, tie, and dress jacket to meet the big magical myth. Santa actually spoke to us this year. Last year, he only commented on the fact I had dressed my baby like an elf. I sat the blonde hair buzzed cut little boy on Santa’s lap and a nice man snapped a few pictures. I immediately grab my child back because, let’s face it, that man in the Santa outfit is a stranger.
Then, Santa asked the toddler the big question “What would you like for Christmas?”
I am kneeling down with the Terrific Toddler on my knee looking up at a big giant lie. And we both freeze. Both my son and I are frozen in fear. At thirty three years old, I still freeze when Santa talks in my general vicinity.
A memory kicks in, a true Christmas Story flashback.
“A ball. He would like a ball,” I shyly mutter some words.
I don’t know if my son wants a ball. He speaks toddler language. I do know his Magnificent Mommy is still a big kid who freezes with fear when a man dressed in a red suit and a fake white beard asks that all important big Christmas question.