On The First Day Of Christmas

It's December. No, really. As in the month before it becomes 2006 and we move into the second half of the decade. As in there are only 24 days left before the dude in the red suit makes his first appearance that might actually be remembered in my three-year-old son's collective memory bank so I'd better pay attention to all the details this year lest the Tiny General take note of some willy nilly inconsistency in my storyline and call me out as a dream-shattering, innocence-crushing charlatan. (As in a full seven months after I gave birth to my last child and shouldn't these lovely lady lumps be gone by now?)

Did I mention it's December?!?

We dressed up the kids in their holiday finery last week and took them to see Santa Claus. Below you'll find the results of this well-intentioned outing in the order in which they unfolded. (Note John's hand in the left foreground of the first two photos, which Finn initally REFUSED to let go of.) The potentially precious moment quickly devolved into a truly comic and suspenseful toss-up as to who would lose their bedecked shit first.

Great Santa, though, no?