Bad Santa

Last weekend, Nate and I took Henry to the little mall near our house to do some holiday shopping at the toy store. We also tried to take Henry to the children's holiday shopping store fundraiser to benefit the local Crisis Nursery. We weren't really sure what it was, but lots of little children were going in and out with bags of goodies, so we figured we could participate. The kind ladies at the ticket desk looked at us like we were crazy when we said we wanted to buy tickets, because it turns out it is a little store where kids go through with the help of a volunteer and buy weird presents for members of their families. As they patiently explained to us, Henry was too young and we were kind of stupid. No kidding. Feeling a little sheepish at our overestimation of Henry's holiday shopping abilities, we decided to go for a photo op with Santa instead of initiating him into rampant, albeit charitable, Christmas consumerism. 

Just yesterday, I got the picture of Henry and Santa in the mail. I was outraged. Henry, fast asleep on St. Nick's lap, looks adorable. But Santa is another matter. He isn't in the least bit jolly. He isn't even smiling. He isn't even looking neutrally at the camera as if he sort of hates his seasonal employment. He's wearing a full-on frowny face, only partially obscured by the fake beard. Like someone kicked his puppy. Like my son pooped in his lap (which I know for a fact he did not!). I felt discouraged and sheepish again, because I had approved this horrible, Santa-scowl picture. Given the opportunity to check out the digital image, I carefully ran through the mental check list to make sure it was satisfactory: Adorable overalls tastefully covering baby's chubby thighs? Check. Beautiful half-smile on cherubic sleeping child's face? Check. Plump little fist curled next to baby's shiny red cheek? Check. Newly unfurled and shockingly large baby ears artistically arranged to be less shocking on camera? Check. Pointless but cute baby shoes still on? Check. No waste, spit-up or visible wetness on baby's clothes? Check. Santa looking vaguely like a friendly, cheerful children's character instead of a grumpy mass murderer? No check. I hadn't even thought to look at Santa; I just declared it a beautiful picture of my kid and paid the six bucks. Now I know better. 

Thankfully, when we go to Idaho for the holidays, we'll have another shot at a picture with Santa--this time with Henry's three cousins along. I'm damn sure Santa will smile for that one.