Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Say Cheese!

I LOVE my kids. I truly, truly do. I think they're great. Better than yours, probably. I want nothing but the best for them. Happiness. Love. Light. All of that.

But... and there's no way to say this without it sounding bad... I really, really want a picture of them with Santa where they are completely freaking out.

I think it's swell to have a picture of them sitting on his lap in their Sunday best with cute hair do's and pretty smiles and what not but for posterity, for the future, for them, I want a picture of Spawn I and II  losing their minds at Santa. I will bring it out and show every boyfriend they ever have, pass it around at their weddings, send it in to their yearbook editors, and if they don't treat me right, slip it to the opposition party during election time for cutesy attack ad fodder.

But please. I'm not going to intervene and fill their heads with lies about Santa just for a photo op!  I mean, different lies, other lies in addition to the societally accepted lies. Because making up lies about an unnaturally jolly man who works in isolation with child- like vassals, talking to animals, and stealthily entering homes whilst vulnerable children sleep would be cruel. We're just barely teetering on the edge of civility with this story. If my dream holiday picture happens, it happens. I will console them. I won't torture them and make them sit there for that long or anything.

I guess I don't feel bad about this scenario because I know that they won't be scarred for life. Ultimately, like any decent predator, Santa will win them over, year after year, by bribing them with candy and toys and we'll look back at the pictures and laugh and laugh.

Merry Christmas.

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