A Series of Unfortunate Events. . . and Santa!

For months, our girls have been saying they wanted Santa Claus to bring them a toy poodle (carefully qualifying the request by explaining that what they wanted was "Not really a TOY poodle, but a real, live poodle that's called a toy poodle because it's as small as a toy. Got it?"). Over Thanksgiving weekend, a perfect little white toy poodle named Chloe popped up on Craigslist, and Mommy and Daddy surprised the girls with an early Christmas present.

I've always said "no inside pets!" but this loving, cuddly, affectionate lap dog is winning me over. And she's housebroken, doesn't shed, doesn't chew, is sweet with the children, and can be groomed and clipped into fun, fancy hairdos--all big plusses in my book!

The mall advertised that Monday would be "pet night" and Miss M thought it would be a great idea to take Chloe with them to see Santa and let him know the poodle request had been covered. It also happened to be one of the few open evenings on our holiday calendar, so we inked it in.

Since I wouldn't have time to cook, thoughtful Mom B invited us to swing by their house after visiting Santa for a lasagna dinner. They wanted to see the girls in their Christmas dresses and Mom B even purchased a festive Christmas "dress" for Chloe.

After insanely long and stressful days at work (seems every client wants to close every deal by the end of 2010!), Mr. B and I rushed home, changed the girls into their dresses, tights and patent leather shoes, and loaded everyone and the dog into Dad B's Hummer (we still haven't purchased a replacement car since mine was totaled in a wreck a couple of months ago that I never blogged about but miraculously walked away from) which Mr. B had warmed up for us since we were having record-breaking low temperatures--in the 30s with wind chills in the 20s! That's miserably cold for us Floridians--I don't even own a winter coat!

And so we were off to see Santa. . .

BUMP-BUMP.

"What was that?" asks Mr. B.

"You ran over the cat!" I blurt out as I see this contortioning ball of orange fur rolling around the driveway ahead of us and scooting off into the flower beds. If I could re-wind that moment, I would have whispered that remark to Mr. B. Somehow at the time it was like a reflex as I watched the horrible scene unfold. It was awful. I've never seen anything like it.

The girls started scolding their Daddy. "You need to watch where you're driving, Daddy!" "Why weren't you looking out for the cat, Daddy?!?!"

As Mr. B got out to assess the situation and the cat's condition, I tried to smooth things over between the girls and their Daddy and back-pedal a bit. I didn't want the girls to be angry or sad with him. "Maybe that wasn't the cat after all, girls. . . After all these years, surely that cat knows better. . . "

Mr. B called the vet to give him a heads-up we may need his services. We knew the cat wouldn't survive but didn't want him to suffer if he wasn't going to go quickly.

After a little while, Mr. B returned to the car. He whispered to me that the cat didn't make it. We had a quick, hushed conference and decided that this was the only night we'd have to see Santa, especially with the dog since not every night is pet night. We would wait until after the Santa visit to relay the news to the girls. We didn't want a bunch of mournful faces in our Santa picture. And we would give the cat a proper burial later in the evening. Given the cold weather, a few hours' delay shouldn't be a problem. It was already 7 and Santa was scheduled to fly back to the North Pole at 9.

Poor cat.

But the clock was ticking and the show must go on!

"Well. . . what happened, Daddy?"

"We'll talk about it later."

Surprisingly, the girls were willing to delay the news. Santa Claus was a good distraction.

When we got to the Santa line, we realized that "pet night" meant something totally different to us than to the rest of Lakeland. While I was picturing families like us showing up with their children and family pet to get pictures taken with Santa, we were standing behind 50 people, only 2 of whom had children in tow. The rest of these people had actually left their homes in freezing weather, to stand in a line in the mall for over an hour and pay money to get a picture of Santa with their dog. No children. Just Santa and the dog. Can you imagine? I'm all for pampering pets, but this was taking the pet as a family member concept it to a whole new level. We waited and waited and waited. Then when they would finally get their turn--I'm not exaggerating--they would spend at least 5 minutes per dog trying to get the perfect shot. Of a dog! Who knows what they were looking for--perky ears? a winning smile? And then there were the dogs waiting in line going potty on the mall floor requiring their owners to clean up after them. So gross! Our polite little princess puppy just snuggled in Miss M's arms the whole time. People thought she really was a toy! As I looked around and thought about my day, all that had happened earlier, what I was doing at that moment, and what was still on the agenda--I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The most ironic thing is how typical such craziness is in our lives right now. Is it real or is the candid camera guy about to show up?

After nearly 2 hours, we finally got to the front of the line. Santa seemed so relieved to finally get to visit with three beautiful little adoring girls after all of those dogs! Miss K gave him a high five and blew him a kiss but did not want to sit in his lap. "No, no, no. No hold you." she said as she shook her finger back and forth at him. She was content to sit next to Miss M on a little present decoration.

**click!** Mommy got her Santa picture. A totally cute one at that!

After the photo was snapped, Miss M and Santa proceeded to have long, serious-looking discussion as Miss A looked on intently and Miss K pretended to lose her balance on the block. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" she would giggle as she dramatically swayed around. Then she would try to stand up and dance and jump around. She's not nicknamed Kiya Knievel for nothing.

Miss A and Miss M told Santa goodbye and promised him some milk and cookies and carrots for the reindeer. I picked up Kiya to make way for the golden retriever waiting in line behind us.

I asked Miss M what she told Santa. Thankfully, the cat incident was not part of the conversation.

"Never mind about the poodle, see, we got one, but me and A would both like a Night Fury toy from the How to Train Your Dragon movie. They're about this big [holds up her hands] and you can buy them at Wal-Mart if the elves don't know what I'm talking about. And next year, I want a pony".

We asked her what Santa said in response.

"He said he'll do his best."

It was after 9 when we arrived at the B's for dinner. Lasagna was delicious as always. We had to leave around 10 to get the girls in bed (it was a school night for Miss M, after all!) and tackle the dreadful tasks of burying the cat and covering all of the plants with sheets lest most of our landscaping die (tropical plants in Florida will NOT come back if they are left uncovered during one of the few "hard freezes" we get). The girls all fell asleep in the car. We carried them into bed and poor Mr. B stayed out in the bitter cold until after midnight burying the cat and covering the plants.

Tuesday morning, we told the girls that good ol' Garfield had gone on to cat heaven.

"I knew it all along" Miss M said. Can't get anything past that girl.

"Maybe he was just wanting to go see Santa, too." Miss A speculated with a frown.

"Well, he got something even better" replied Miss M. "He got to see Jesus! And after all, Jesus, not Santa, is what Christmas is all about!"

Yes, Miss M, despite all of the hustle-bustle, activity and business of our lives around the holidays, let's not forget that He IS what it's all about!