My typical MO is to take the kids to the mall early during Thanksgiving week, since the lucky little suckers have the whole thing off. We haven't encountered a line that way, which give me plenty of time to commandeer the photo booth and make them take dozens of shots until I
I was right. The end.
No, that couldn't be the end of the story, could it? Of course, it couldn't.
(Don't get too excited. This isn't the making of a Hallmark holiday movie or anything.)
We made it to the mall, marched right up to the photo kiosk and found... nobody. No Santa, not even a photo elf. I checked the sign 3 times to make sure I was reading correctly that Santa was slated to appear at that very minute. We hung out, getting increasingly anxious (me) and fidgety (them), until finally Santa came back from his milk and cookie break (I'm making an educated guess here). I ushered the kids over to Santa and put the photographer to work while I got out my own camera for backup.
I forgot my husband was with us this time.
My husband, who has never seen of picture of himself he could call decent, much less liked, was fine with every single shot and said so. I, however, was not. At first, every shot was 9 million miles away, and I really don't need my son's grimy shoes in the picture when I can't even see his face. So I made the elf zoom in. Then began the coaching, because my children, while adorable, are terrible photo subjects. Look here. No, HERE. No side eye, Sabrina. Sammy, that's not a smile; you look like you're in the beginning stage of rigamortis. Relax. Sit up straight. Fix your dress. Ugh.
All the while with Chris standing behind me, probably exchanging "Isn't my wife insane?" looks with the elves. Oh well. I'm paying for this moment of delight. I want it right.
After several rounds, I reached the end of my rope, I settled. It's not the best pic of the kids, but they're both smiling and looking relatively near the lens. But then, Santa:
Y'all, he's the grumpy cat version of Santa. Grumpy Ol' Saint Nick.
Note to Surly Santa: this was November 21. You have a long way to go. Better find the jolly, Man.
Then there was yesterday. Our church had a pancake breakfast with Santa as honored guest. And we commemorated this moment as well.
Not bad. Sabrina might be checking out stage left, but at least nobody looks constipated.
I haven't downloaded my snapshots yet, so there's still hope that I managed to capture something the professionals missed. Eh, who am I kidding? But still, memories made.
And we get to do it all over again next year.