Memories of Holiday Fun Gone Awry

Picture of my Christmas shoes!!

Ho Ho Holiday time is here. Yesterday I took the kids to see Santa at the mall. I was expecting my daughter to bitch slap Santa by screaming at the sight of him, and then insist the only way she would take the picture is if she is clinging to me and we stand 4 feet to the side of him. She definitely surprised me because she walked up to him and gave her list of gifts; purple play dough, and magic clip dolls.

My son, who is perfect; he rarely cries, keeps himself occupied, and walks around singing, is the definition of a freaking ray of sunshine, reacted just as I expected my daughter to. Right as he was being plopped into Santa’s lap his grip tightened, like he expected me to drop him there and then run for the exit. After it became clear the photographers noise makers and my clapping and jumping up and down like a fucking idiot was not going to make the baby smile, we ended up doing the picture where I am holding the baby and my daughter is in Santa’s lap. My daughter remained hesitant but the promise of future toys kept her from freaking out. When George, that is MY little prince’s name, was in my lap he began smiling immediately, and we got great shots where he looks happy.

When I went to select the picture, the options were the cheese dick picture of us smiling with Santa, and the picture of George emulating Elian Gonzalez while my daughter is clutching to hope that I have not put her in the hands of a psycho. The choice was clear.

My grown up daughter and Elian Gonzalez

Tonight I put the kids in the car and we went on a drive to check out Christmas lights in The Fabulous 40’s, a couple blocks of mansions where they basically strung up every light the Grinch stole from Who-ville. First stop, high end hot chocolate from a place where the owners smoked ten joints before deciding how to price their products. I ordered 2, and poured George about 2 tablespoons into an empty cup, and he immediately spilled it down his shirt. Instead of shouting, “that was like $3 worth of beverage, boy! Get it together!” I took a deep breath and loaded us back in the car. When we drove down the first street of the Fab 40’s Kiki, my daughter, shrieked, “It spilt!! I’m all wet!” The hot chocolate was not hot, by the way, we ordered it at “kids temperature” (this was probably an upcharge). She would not stop with the screaming about her wet bottom so we had to head home.

I stopped off at a grocery store, and when I pulled her out of the car, the butt of her pants was wet and brown. It was mortifying going through the store because it likely looked like she had shit her pants and I was dragging her around like some shitty child abuser. We were fast as lightening and I spent the entire time loudly repeating, “That messy hot chocolate really got you dirty!”

The holidays are about loads of QT and doing activities that go tits up. Taking pictures that perfectly capture just how awry things go will give loads of laughs later on. Just don't take pictures where it looks like you shit your shorts. That would just be sad.

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