For the first time, oh I don’t know, EVER, I waited until the week before Christmas to visit Santa. Note to self: don’t do that again.
The line was long and creeping and just as we got into line, John Paul says, “Mom, I gotta go potty.” Arg. We forgot to give him his meds that morning. I held our place while he and Will dashed off to the restroom. They made it back in time for us to see the big guy. It was definitely a milestone year in that Clare didn’t cry. First time in four years. In fact, she bounded up onto Santa’s knee and smiled the whole time. Luke, on the other hand, notsomuch. We did manage to get a photo without him screaming his head off. I’ll take it.
The requests were really sweet from the kids and I always enjoy how kind and gracious our sweet Santa is. His parting words were, “Y’all help your mom around the house, ok? She deserves it.”
Oh, and our Santa wears cowboy boots. How cool is that?