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Well, you know I'm not one to make outlandish accusations about just anyone, let alone Mr Claus himself, the legend of which I wholeheartedly believed in until one day way back in circa 1984. Erica and Nicolas Black (oh I see it now! how uncanny... Nicolas, Nick, Saint Nic + Black as in evil) maliciously informed my sweet innocent self of the biggest hoax imaginable and despite my fervent rejections of these heathen's notions (but with an anxiety like no other in my trembling voice) the whole debacle was later confirmed in full as I witnessed my mother down the hallway stealthily stuffing wrapped presents into the manhole. Graciously I did what most other kids do and kept secret (ha jokes on them now!) knowledge of this to both protract and protect the sillyness of the enacted game that had meant so much to them. Had it not been fully blown already, Dad blew the gaff even further that year by wrapping a pair of running shorts into a small package held neatly and nestled by a dozen bricks inside an old (wrapped) fridge box. He built up the anticipation beautifully, teasing her with idea that maybe it was a much needed new motor for the mini (er yes, two adults, a kid and a full grown Saint Bernard + joy rides trying to land air down the old winters road bumps will do that) Mum did laugh but I knew my Santa would never have been so mean.

That was 23 years ago and now I'm upholding the mythical illusion to a 3 year old and a I year old none the wiser.
So what do I do, but traipse along to the biggest long standing fire disaster of local history of a certain department store to play my part. This way please.. step into Santa's well maintained albeit ancient grotto, $12 for a 5 x 7" souvenir photo for the mantle, yes please (my own agenda of purchasing another one of these gorgeous kiwiana decoration already fulfilled).. how bad can it be? I'm trying not to feel moronic, like just another mother from the largest cross section demographic taking her little one along to keep up this ridiculous facade. But I guess I did expect a little magic, some seemingly plausible dialogue, a moment in which to feel vicariously what it is like to still believe.

But it went a little something like this. Santa waves, unenthusiacaly (and by the way its only 10 am at the start of only day 3 for the guy who's still got 28 days of this palava to keep up)

Santa " hi there, whats your name'' not the absense of ? because it sounds rhetorical, dead pan, flat

Noah " noah"

S ' oh. do you like presents"

N "yes'

S 'do you like chocolates'

N "yes"

S "do you like balloons'

N 'yes"

S "oh good, that was easy , the lady will give you a chocolate and a balloon ok'

N (looking bored by this lack of reparte in what would normally be quite an exercise of coaxing and trickery to illicit these from me)

At this point it was up to me to act as a bit of a go between to stir up the collective imagination, encouraging Noah to throw Santa a few trick questions about toy making reindeer logistics.But Santa was the least bit obliging. Only this is not what worried me most, it was the way he kept rubbing my sons hands as tho he was giving them a massage of sorts that eventually made me uneasy. As the rubbing went on for quite sometime despite the reticence. Then as I was mostly watching Noah to gauge his reaction I looked up a few times at Santa expecting to see him also looking at Noah but he was eyeballing me and then I kid you not, I got the distinctive feeling that I he was looking down my top! and not that it was revealing but it was a modest v neck tshirt and only a fraction of the bra would of been visable.. but still, talk about taking me back to Avonside Girls High with Mr Brooks leacherous sideways glances and salavating mouth as he forgot what he was actually saying. Now maybe this Santa is jet lagged, depressive, stoned, he certainly isnt that old and he doesnt have red eyes although I wished they were sparkly in the way that I remember my childhood Santas' being... and I dont want to be thinking that perhaps there is a small chance that this Santa could be a P its too nasty to write it, but maybe I will never know except that maybe he is deaf because when I told an unsure looking Noah that he didnt have to sit on Santas knee for the photo, that he could just stay standing and turn around... and even tho he nodded ok in agreance, Santa picked him up and put sat him on his knee anyway!

It was only as we stood with balloon and chocolate waiting for our photo to be developed that I took it all in, all 3 other children were crying or silent and none seemed happy. Also Santas pretty, slim, young helpers were equally jaundiced.. could this be because they too knew SANTA WAS A SLEAZE BAG?!!!!! ... did they also feel disappointed by and dubious of our great father figure in red?

The same day I spoke with my Mr who said perhaps I should complain. Then grandma came over and I told her. She actually worked at 'smellies' for a good 25 years and urged me to make a call to the General Manager. He welcomed the feedback and not only did he gasp in shock and laugh nervously but said they had just hired this 'new guy' that they had never used him before and didnt know much about him, that he would sort Santa out as this was not desirable branding. I got the distinctive feeling that they were going to be cutting Santas contract short. So yes, Ho ho ho and he he he...I may have got Santa fired! ...the anarchist within is revelling at the thought!

Only thing is tho, Noah has heard me talking about this to Dad and Grandma and is now thinking god only knows what. So much for my safe guarding the sanctity of the spirit of believing!

Craft nite is so much fun on so many fronts. Lots of guffawing with the growing gaggle of girls and capital F thigh slapping, knitting needle rapping (OK so maybe only I am guilty of that!) Fun.
There's always an update on who's scored best in the op shops, technical, love life and career conversations, CUP CAKES if Lenore or Jess are hosting.... you know, the general essential life enhancing camaraderie behind it all. But as of today it is looking like there may be the potential for a wee commercial spin off too. Cupcake queen Lenore, is the owner operator of the utterly divine and exclusively New Zealand made design/home ware store "DUSK". She has also invited a few of mamaG's icky tikis to come and sit on her beautiful shelves of tempation. Get on down there ya'll.

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Dusk's new residents (below) Pinky and Orange...but already I am rubbing my hands eagerly with a burning desire to do new faces and designs... different bodies details.. Oh how rude will that be?!... 

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PS) a big thanks to the lovely ladies who make craft nite what it is. They all do so well putting up with me and my giggle attacks.. all sorts of nonsense comes out of my mouth! (usually outlandish and salacious, a release from the sensible and rather wholesome mothering mumbo jumbo) But none of it helped by the fact that I have always come straight from Iyengar with Wendy and mostly specifically after back bends which stimulate the nervous system rather than settling it (unlike forward bends) Er yes.. very open minded and accepting bunch we are indeedy!

We purchased our 76' fleetwing Balmoral nearly a year ago. Initially it sat dormant while we fretted and stressed about the work it required (after thinking that it only had one small leak to repair - lesson no 1) and focused more on life's other priorities (like another baby being born into our world) So, even tho we had hoped to have her roaring to go for last xmas, we have beavered away throughout winter and now well into spring for the grand unveiling ahead of this side of Christmas. Be warned, (lesson no 2) renovating a mobile home is not much different from renovating any another other home in that, it causes many a tense discussion between couples involved, which can potentially require much mediation and/or therapy to overcome. Lesson no 3; if your relationship can survive a renovation or  parenting, it can survive anything!
While I have taken on the predictable role of interior furnishing the Mr has bore a hole in his head figuring out which spooge fillers, glues and sealants to use. The whole skeletal bones or batons were also replaced and reinforced and  are now at the stage where the insulation is being jigsawed into place before we re line the walls. Meanwhile I have been overlocking cushions, ordering squab foam and fabrics for curtains and then thrifting madly for potato mashers and retro-mania mayhem kiwiana trinkets. Old wool blankets have lovingly been given a new lease on life and I am hunting out old rainy day activities like 'simon says' and spirograph to keep me and the kids busy and the Mr driven to distraction!

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