We interrupt this week’s ongoing tidings of comfort and joy to bring you this moment of yuletide trauma:
Does she weep because her mother has abandoned her to the clutches of a fat, bearded old man in a stupid outfit, or because she is being forced to endure tacky white leather furniture in a Santa Castle that looks like the lobby of a Motel 6 in Vegas? You decide.
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If you would prefer to have your spirits lifted and your heart tugged, you can find my sister’s beautiful note of thanks to you all for having such big hearts HERE.
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You still have all weekend to bid raffle tickets over at Her Bad Auction. You didn’t know that spreading the love was such fun, did you? (And, again, do let me know if you have written a post about it or put up a button. I want to thank everyone properly.)
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I was not brave enought to take my little Isa to see Santa this year…maybe next year.
But Wonderbaby will sure have some laughs when she is older and sees this picture. Too cute.
We’ll get some letters headed out Tanner’s way from upstate New York this week!
Weird. Your “Santa” looks exactly like my “Santa” from a recent holiday party in Long Beach, California. As recent as last Monday. Could “Santa” be real after all?
I heard on the radio today that most Santa’s make a hundred dollars an hour! He should be smiling bigger.
Hopefully WonderBaby doesn’t have visions of Santa in her head or that will be many sleepless nights for you.
I’m confused. When did Santa start hanging out on a white leather couch? Doesn’t he know that reindeer poop will never come off that thing?
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