Do you take your children to see Santa every year? I do. I know, I know, we’re going straight to hell in a hand basket because we didn’t bake Jesus a birthday cake, but spare me your judgement. Santa’s magical dammit.
Mainly I started the tradition because it seemed like one that I could keep up with. And also I believed in Santa waaay too far into my childhood because I’m just that kind of nerd with a big enough imagination. I mean. Narnia? Hogwarts? So, Santa. Ya heard?
But small children don’t yet feel that magical way about sitting on a bearded stranger’s lap. I’ve got “the mall on christmas eve” grade anxiety now when we go see him. This year I took Nick. The mall we went to had a big Santa’s snow world rotunda before you went in. They had snow falling from the ceiling and film of arctic animals playing. This was a cheap exploit on the popularity of Frozen, but I’ll take it. Because nothing is worse than taking your child to see Santa and the child before them loses it. Then the fear sets in and it’s very hard to turn that tantrum train around. Here, in Frozen Snow Globe Land, all your child sees is magical snow-snow-snow and then BOOM Santa. Smart guys. For real. Not that I don’t treasure the crying pictures above all.
The journey doesn’t start and end at the mall though. The journey begins when you are trying to locate a suitable outfit for your child to be photographed in… and if you’re cheap about your kids clothes like me, you find about 30 suitable options, pass on all of them, then feel like your child looks like an Oliver Twist orphan compared to the Real Housewives kids in the line. You can’t get them dressed until you’re right about out of the door, no one can drink or eat in the car. If you’re lucky they’ve sensed something is up and they’ve been alternating between crying and acting out all day.
Please enjoy this year’s Santa picture that I overpaid for. And some from Christmas past. “Come in and know me better man!”