This is what happens when you try to do it yourself.Stay with me. I promise that later on in this post, in an area that is NOT for the faint at heart, there are really cute pictures instead of me just blabbing on and on.
So yeah. I tried to get him to pose for a holiday card and this is what happened.
But then ... tonight ... while eating an angry-looking asparagus spear mixed into a delicious, low-fat stir-fry meal ...
I had a vision of The Perfect Holiday Card. Which you will get in the mail in a couple weeks.
Yes, that last sentence was a fragment.
Tonight, we went to the mall. And of course you know who was there. And since The Goose doesn't really know very much about HIM (I'm trying not to be Scrooge, but it's really hard to hold in all of my angst about the materialism, and monogrammed Christmas outfits for the whole family, and ridiculous fluffy red costumes, and fake mechanical elves and whatnot), I decided that tonight might be the night to introduce him to St. Nick. It's one of those "I'd-rather-he-hear-it-from-me" things.
So we walked over casually to the huge, fenced-in display, and I told him about how some children like to stand in line so that they can get the opportunity to sit in Santa's lap and tell him what they want for Christmas. And I said, "What do you want for Christmas?"
He said, "What month is it?"
I said, "Well, it's November still, but in a couple days it'll be December, and that's when Santa Claus comes."
Don't ask me WHY? I don't know WHY. I just ... it's just ... CONFESSION: I never believed in Santa Claus. We didn't have a chimney .... it wasn't a plausible scenario ... the Easter bunny is another story altogether ... but reindeer and a sleigh just didn't, um, fly with me. As a child or now.
So he says, "He looks scary."
Relieved, I say, "OK ... let's just go to the indoor playground."
And we do.
And then, after only 4 minutes of playing, he comes over and starts putting on his boots.
"What are you doing?" I say.
"We needa go see Santa."
"OK," I say, like it's no big deal. Like there's not some little DEVIL on my shoulder saying, "You're giving in to popular culture ... you're perpetuating a ridiculous myth and using bribery to enhance good behavior ... you're--" and then the angel cuts in, "YOU'RE BEING NORMAL. IT IS A LOVELY FABLE THAT AMERICAN PARENTS PASS ON TO THEIR CHILDREN. ST. NICK IS A LONGSTANDING TRADITION AND HE'S GOING TO HEAR ABOUT IT ANYWAY ..."
So we go.
And we stand in line for the better part of half an hour. Then, with only two kids in front of us (one who actually didn't have on an obviously planned outfit), I'm staring at the price poster trying to figure out how to get outta there buying the LEAST expensive photo package, I hear, "hee hee hee."
I look down. And there he is standing with his pants around his ankles. That stinker dropped trou in the Santa Claus line. I saw the little boy behind me scurry behind his mom's leg and whisper, "LOOK!"
Trying to remain calm, I bent down, hugged him EVER. SO. GINGERLY. and said, "Pull up your pants or we will exit the line IMMEDIATELY and there will BE. NO. SANTA. CLAUS."
And then I felt my face burn BRIGHT RED. Which is CHRISTMASSY!
The next thing you know, it's our turn. So he saunters up to the big man and stares. Santa says, "Hi little man. What's your name? Whaddaya want for Christmas?"
"John. A jackhammer," he replies.
"Wha? A jack-in-the-box?"
"NO. A jackhammer. But not a big one. Just a little one. It's a tool, not a toy."
"Oh. A jackhammer? OK. Well, what ELSE do you want for Christmas?"
Cue Mama: Well! Let's take the picture now! Smile! Show us your teeth! Say CHEESE! Yay! All done!"
In other news ...
Brother & Little Bitty came over last night.
And then of course there was THANKSGIVING:
Serious card game with my cousin's kids.
And last ... to leave you with a smile ...
In our backyard, we have ...
And there's nothing Bah-Humbug about that.