With only a precious few free evenings before Christmas, we used one up to go visit Santa last night. Our timing was poor; the real Santa was finishing up with his last child of the day. So we got a fake Santa instead of the one who's been on almost every single one of our Santa pictures since Chloe was born. I wanted to come back another day, but wasn't sure when/if that would happen, so we worked with what we had.
Spencer said this Santa rushed him along, which isn't that surprising since the only thing Spencer asked him for was a "standard electric sabre," which drew a blank stare from Santa. I guess Fake Santa's not into fencing. Neve asked for scented markers and clip-on earrings and Chloe asked for books. It's an easy year for Santa. Except for the sword.
|Luckily the kids all got the memo about wearing a tshirt with writing on it.|
Afterward, we went to Boston Pizza, where the service was even poorer than our Santa timing. We were all hungry and irritable after waiting for over 45 minutes to get our food. The worst part was that when I asked the waitress nicely if there was a problem with our order since other tables that had been seated after us were already finished eating, instead of apologizing, she said, "Don't worry, your food will come." As I punched her, I told her, "Don't worry, the bruise will heal." At least in my fantasty, that's what I did. I get so ill-tempered when I'm hungry.
The point of this whiny story is that the "idyllic family outings" I look forward to often don't live up to my expectations. And when I have no expectations, that's when the magic happens. So here's to an unplanned, unorganized, fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants December. Looking for the positive in everything wouldn't hurt either. For example, all that waiting time gave me lots of time to take pictures. I should have taken one of the waitress's bruise.