Nina In New York: It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas. Like, A LOT.

A lighthearted look at news, events, culture and everyday life in New York. The opinions expressed are solely those of the writer.
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By Nina Pajak

And a very merry Double Cyber Last Chance To Keep Spending Triple Soy Sale Wednesday to you and yours! Don't you just love the holiday season? I hope everyone had a warm and wonderful Thanksgiving, and a fruitful Black Friday. I'm not too familiar with the New Testament -- is Cyber Monday when the Magi went shopping for the gifts they brought to the manger? I'm going to need to brush up on some of this stuff if I'm going to do Christmas right for my kid.

I'll say one thing: the retail world does not make my job any easier. There's much talk of seeing Christmas through a child's eyes. The magic, the innocence, the unbridled joy. And also, THE STUFF.

There is just so. Much. Stuff. It's everywhere. And I'm not talking about the glittery, tourist-friendly Midtown avenues lined with fancy light displays and elaborate windows. I'm talking about the three-block stretch of commercial district between my house and the Rite Aid in Queens. Naturally, until I had a fully sentient 2 1/2-year-old, there was no reason to notice how surrounded we are. But now, it's like I just learned how to see the Matrix for what it truly is. A light has been shone directly from my daughter's face onto the world, like a laser beam. A really, really persistent laser beam.

"OOOOOH MOMMY, WHAT'S THAT SANTA!?" she cries from the shampoo aisle in the drugstore.

"It's a Santa," I tell her absently as I continued scrutinizing my various de-frizzing options.

"Can we see it? Is it real? Mommy! Santa! Can we see it?"

This went on until we went to investigate a rather ghoulish plastic Santa at the front of the store. She immediately turned her attention to something at the back.

"A snowman! Can we go see the snowman? The snowman! Look, it's a snowman!"

The trip devolved into a manic tour of our local Rite Aid during which I attempted to field endless toddler questions while simultaneously tossing necessities into my basket as we went.

"What's that Santa? What's he drinking?"

"Coca Cola. That's a picture of Santa drinking soda."

"Oh! Those M&Ms have Santa hats! Why do they have those hats?"

"Uh--"

"Oh, look! Teddy bears! Candy! Can I have candy? Can I have teddy bears? What's this called?"

"Wrapping paper."

"Is it for kids? Can I touch it? There's Santa and penguins and a elf! Why's it got penguins and a elf? Can I touch it? Can we buy it? Is it Santa? Is it for Christmas? Why? What's it for?"

"No . . . yes . . . um, they. It's for presents--"

"What kinda presents? Can I have a present? When can I have a present?"

"Not now. It's. God, we've got to get out of here."

I quickly scurried to the register and endured what felt like an eternity waiting in line surrounded by more holiday-themed candy and soda and gift card displays. Out on the street, I breathed a sigh of relief. Only, it was too soon. As we walked back home, my daughter proceeded to flip out over every single stuffed polar bear, window appliqué, and lighted shrub.

"OOOOOOOOH MOMMY! MOMMY! LOOK," she shrieked, pointing to a string of snowflake lights hanging between telephone poles. "IT'S A SNOWFLAKE FROM PRINCESS ELSA!"

"What? Wait, no. It's just a snowflake. From . . . snowflakes. It's a snowflake from winter! When it snows! Honey, it's just a snowflake!"

She regarded me blankly.

"Okay, yeah, fine. It's a snowflake from Princess Elsa."

It's going to be a long month.

Nina Pajak is a writer living with her husband, daughter and dog in Queens. Connect with Nina on Twitter!