For a myriad reasons, and none really relevant at all (it's cold, it's late, she's young, we're lazy) we've never taken Norah to meet the big guy in a red suit. Santa, that is. I know, there are those diligent parents who buy new outfits and take their little one to the most convincing, jolliest Santa they can find each and every year. They take gorgeous professional photos that their children will always have to cherish forever. Or something like that.
Not us.
But this year, I got my act together and we took our littles to meet Santa. Or, rather, my brother Geoff invited us to his work Christmas party where Santa was conveniently going to be, passing out candy canes and posing for pictures. Perfect. Norah was giddy with anticipation, and the moment she saw Jolly Old St. Nick her eyes lit up and she was in a magical trance. Norah asked for hairbows, kitchen toys, and books with the biggest grin on her face. Clayton cried. All-in-all, it was a success! Oh, and then we played ski-ball, which is of course the best arcade game on the planet, and Clayton forgot his traumatizing experience - until a few days later when happened upon Santa at University Mall and the whole scenario replayed itself.
