Our town does a neat little event in which Santa in his sleigh is pulled on a giant trailer through the neighborhoods, with a police escort giving ample warning of his approach, sirens ablaze. Last night was our neighborhood's turn, of which I was unfortunately unaware until I heard the sirens. Peanut was back in his bedroom with MRB, reading bedtime stories, and what with my having to run back to the room (since MRB couldn't hear me shouting) to get them, by the time we got to the front door all Peanut saw were the sides and back of the brightly lit sleigh as it went by. Impressive to him, particularly with the sirens going and all, but still, he kind of missed Santa.

I figured it was good enough, and he seemed to think no more of it, but twenty minutes later as we were having our bedtime ritual, he interrupted my lullaby with a heartbroken sob.

"Mama," he gasped, "I can't...I can't..." (sob) "Mama, I can't say hi to Santa."

After I gathered myself up from the melted puddle of maternal compassion to which this reduced me, I cuddled him and told him we'd go visit Santa soon so he could say "hi" up close.

Which is why today I am searching online for the nearest Santa meet-and-greet, and feeling suddenly like a real...parent. I know, I've been one for three years now, but it's somehow strange to start doing things I can remember doing with my own mother. Up to this point, it's been new territory, and now, suddenly, it has this nostalgic familiarity that makes me feel very young and very old at the same time. Funny.