So last night we took the kids to see Santa Claus. I was hoping to get a better photo of them than I did last year:
(Yes, Taylor is smacking Santa in the face with a hanger.)
I mean, anything, would be better than this, right?
After more than an hour of waiting in line, I go in to snap my redemption photo and get this:
Looks like I’m missing someone, doesn’t it?
My “precious little angel” Emma is next to me, in Doug’s arms, screaming bloody murder.
Poor Santa. He felt bad.
Poor Aaron. He felt bad, too, plus I think he was a wee bit embarrassed.
Poor Doug. He tried so hard to keep Emma in good spirits while we were in line. (Did I mention we were in line for over an hour, on a Monday evening?)
Taylor was ok, as long as she didn’t have to actually sit on Santa’s lap.
But, on the upside, she’s doing a really good job of advertising The Tale of Despereaux.
I was more than peeved. We were there all that time and I couldn’t get the three of them to sit for 30 seconds so I could get a photo.
Had we only waited 20 minutes or so, I wouldn’t have cared as much about the bad photo…
Oh, and to make matters worse, Emma cried the whole way home.
Taylor did, too.
At this point I want to say I’ll never do that again.
But, I’m sure that when December ’09 rolls around, I’ll get all in the Christmas spirit again and subject myself (and my family) to this all over again.
As they say, third time’s a charm.
Oy, let’s hope so.