Finally, the !*%&^@ Santa Picture!

In years past, I've gotten the boys in to get their Santa picture taken the week before Thanksgiving. It was my little secret: Santa was there and the lines weren't. This year, however, I was not as organized. So we went on Black Friday and braced for crowds. We were late in the day, and just had a couple of kids in front of us. Great, right? And then we see the picture. Um. Eddie's blurry. Can we do a retake? OK, take 2 and Eddieis perfect! But Chas is blurry. We take it and go shopping while Santa feeds his reindeer. But Steph knows it's bugging me so we go back for the third try. The people taking the pictures tell us the camera is just very sensitive to movment etc. I kept muttering loudly about the shutter speed but I didn't ask to look at it because I figured it was probably set up for them and they were told not to touch it or something. Anyway, it was blurry again but we gave up. Steph told me our standards were just too high and that we'd have a great story to tell about this year's picture.

So we got home and I tried to photoshop Eddie's non-blurry head onto one where Chas' head was also not blurry. This looked not great. And I was having a blood pressure spike every time I thought about it.

So finally, this afternoon, I put them back in their sweaters and dragged them back tthe mall, this time bringing my own camera. They protested a bit, but I told them the more times you see Santa, the more presents he brings. They seemed to buy it. Either that or they already recognized that when Mommy is obsessing about something it's best just to get out of the way.

We walked up and the girl behind the camera remembered us -- as did Santa. I thought they might run away, screaming. But no. "After you left I realized my shutter speed was too slow," she said. No kidding. so they took another one, getting better smiles from Chas anyway.

So here, at long last, is our 2008 Santa picture:

Fa Ya Ya Ya Ya

Chas announced the other day that he "really has the Christmas spirit." And he's right. Sadly for him, the spirit is coming out in the form of quite possibly the worst carol in the world for a boy who cannot pronounce his Rs or his Ls. He keeps singing this refrain. Over. And over. And over.

Deck the halls with bough of hawee!

Fa-ya-ya-ya-ya Ya-ya-ya-ya!

'Tis the season to be Jahwee!

Fa-ya-ya-ya-ya Ya-ya-ya-ya!

It's our family's new signature carol.

Christmas Trees: The Hidden Trauma

For the first time since the boys were born, we decided to get a fresh cut tree this year instead of hauling out the old artificial pre-lit K-mart special. (Which we still have, despite its rather tattered look and the fact that it fell on Steph's car causing us to submit a ridiculous insurance claim.) In fact, we decided to go cut our own. I figured the boys would be thrilled. Not so much Eddie.
"I don't want to cut down a tree," he said, his voice filled with distress. "Trees help us breathe!" Ahh, my budding environmentalist. As much as I want to nurture and support those impulses, Mommy wants a happy family memory and the smell of fresh cut Christmas tree this year, dammit! So I explained that we would cut a tree from a farm where they were grown for the express purpose of being cut down and that the farmer would replant in the place of the one we slaughter, etc. and he decided it would be OK.

So we got the tree, which was indeed fun. I got lights -- we didn't have any because -- Hello! -- our artificial tree didn't need any. Anyway, one light string didn't work and we were looking for this little tester gadget that I loaned out a couple of years ago and suddenly, Chas has come in, looking forlorn and explaining that he was trying to find the plug for the lights that were already on the tree. Steph sensed what had happened far sooner than I and immediately ran to the living room. Yes, the tree was down. Water was everywhere -- because fresh cut trees need water, which frankly is another strike against them. We told him he wasn't in trouble, it was an accident etc. etc. as we mopped up and righted the tree. A few minutes later, he sat solemnly and muttered, "I feel terrible." Yes, he was feeling guilty about having knocked down the tree. We reassured him AGAIN that he wasn't in trouble and hadn't done anything wrong because we should have had the tree more stable than it was etc. I'm not sure he was buying it.