Visiting That Fat Man in Red

This year, instead of battling the Santa lines for hours only to spend a rushed 25 seconds with a dirty stranger, we decided to have breakfast the man inside the safety of a local high school.  My nearly four year old couldn't contain himself with excitement.

For the weeks approaching our visit to Santa, I had repeatedly asked my son what he was going to ask Santa for this year. His friends would say one or two toys, but not my son. He wanted everything. "I want everything," he'd say.

No son, it doesn't work that way. Pick one or two things. He finally narrowed it down to a race track (which we now need to get) and the move Planes (great, that's upstairs).  

When we arrived at school, we had to keep my son from running around the school as he searched for Santa.  He nervously walked into the crowded cafeteria.  When he laid eyes on this old man, he ran up to him. That's the beauty of breakfast with Santa. There is little to no line.  

While my son danced around Santa, I scrambled to get my camera out and take the lens off. Since we could take our own pictures, I squeezed as close as I could to the volunteer photographer and his tripod. If he had the best shot, then that's where I wanted to be too. We snapped a couple of pictures of my son alone with Santa.  I never did get to hear what he whispered in Santa's ear.  Was it everything?  Or, the two things we had talked about?  

Meanwhile, my husband prepped my daughter.   At this date, she is almost 16 months old and afraid of strangers. I already had an idea of how this was going to go down.  My husband puts my daughter on Santa's lap, and she is not happy.  I wouldn't be.  Here is a child who doesn't like strangers, and we just give her to a strange man, and LEAVE her with him.  And, being a terrible mom I'm capturing every tortured moment of my daughter's life.  

As I'm taking the pictures, all I can think about is how dirty this guy's suit is.  It's probably covered in germs ranging from the common cold to the plague.  And, how often does he clean this thing?  I mean, it's probably not washable.  So, when does this man have a chance to take it to the dry cleaners?  On his day off?  Probably not.

Lucky for me, my daughter wants nothing to do with this strange man named Santa and his germy suit.  I see her reaching for her Daddy just trying to get away from this guy.  Her brother next to her provides very little comfort.  Finally, the trauma of it all is over for my daughter, and, sadly, over for my son too.

Once I get home, I look through the 50 pictures I took in 45 seconds.  My kids took some decent photos, though never at the same time.  Before we even left the house I knew this would be the year for the crying photo with Santa for my daughter.  Secretly, I was hoping for the hilarious screaming shot, but my daughter disappointed me.  Her pictures won't be seen on the most awful Santa pictures blogs.  But, they can be enjoyed by us.

Merry Christmas.