Disclaimer:
In this post, I use the word “fat” only as a direct quote from my son when he was five. It reflects a child’s literal understanding, not my own views or language. No offense is intended to anyone, and the word is included solely to preserve the accuracy of the story.
Santa Spoiler Alert:
This post includes kid-level truths about Santa. If you’ve got tiny believers reading over your shoulder, consider redirecting them with cookies.
Most parents have a picture of their young child sitting on Santa’s lap. I’m sure at least a few families have that picture-perfect shot where both the child and Santa are smiling… but honestly, I haven’t seen many of those.
Instead, most Santa photos feature kids screaming in fear or staring at the camera like they’re being held hostage.
I don’t have either version.
My kids have never sat on Santa’s lap.
Not only have they never sat on Santa’s lap — I never even tried.
When Mae was small, even getting near the mall Santa made her cry in terror. I figured I’d wait a few years and then we’d finally get that iconic Christmas photo.
Then Nick came along, and I thought, Okay, maybe I’ll get a picture of the two of them with Santa this time.
Nick was almost a year old when his first Christmas rolled around. He had a lot of issues, so I really didn’t expect him to sit with Santa — at least not that year.
My mum, Meme, and I took both kids to a holiday bazaar at a local church. My mum was carrying Nick. He took one look at Santa and tried to climb over Meme’s shoulder and down her back. The look on his face was pure terror. I had no idea what was happening until I finally spotted Santa sitting in a chair in the corner of the church.
Well. I guess Nick definitely wasn’t going to sit with Santa this Christmas.
It wasn’t a big deal — I had plenty of time to get that Santa picture, right?
Well, it’s been more than 25 years… and still no Santa photo.
I keep telling Mae I’m still waiting.
And I really am. I still want my d@mn Santa photo. And at this point, I don’t care if the kids are smiling, crying, or sprinting away in fear — I want a picture of my kids with Santa.
After all, it’s my right as a parent.
My lack of Santa photo aside, I always loved Christmas with my kids.
I loved buying gifts for them… and my mum loved spending my money on them even more. 😂
Every year, the Sears Wish Book and the Toys “R” Us Big Book would arrive in the mail. Other stores like Kmart, Target, and Walmart also sent out Christmas circulars. Once at least two of these ads came in, I’d hand them to the kids and let them circle whatever they wanted for Christmas.
For a few glorious minutes they would sit — quietly, without fighting — and mark what they hoped Santa might bring.
It was simple kid-magic. It was fun. And it’s one of my favorite memories.
We had many of the “classic” Christmas moments — minus the picture with Santa, of course — decorating the tree, driving around to look at Christmas lights, singing carols in the car… and Nick’s Christmas presents sitting under the tree until New Year’s Eve.
Wait, that last one might be specific only to us. But it’s true: Nick got stuck on the first gift he opened and didn’t open another one until December 31st. It drove Mae absolutely nuts to watch all those presents just sit there, untouched, day after day. I finally promised her she could help him open the rest on New Year’s Eve.
Nick eventually opened his gifts — and Mae happily assisted.
After that year, I learned to put the best gifts at the bottom of Nick’s present pile. That way, the ones he really wanted would be the last to be opened. It worked reasonably well, though he always needed gentle reminders to keep going.
Mae, on the other hand, would be done with her gifts in the blink of an eye. She always offered to help Nick when he got stuck.
Such a helpful child.
While Mae was the typical kid at Christmas, Nick certainly was not. Mae loved being on break from school, and she especially loved not having to eat a proper dinner on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day… even if her entire holiday menu consisted of rolls and cookies.
Nick, on the other hand, did not enjoy the break in routine. He struggled with all of it.
And neither of my kids seemed to truly warm up to the idea of Santa. Mae was fine looking at him from a distance and happily accepted the gifts he brought, but Nick had a very different opinion.
The Christmas Nick turned five, he came home from school and informed me that we were irresponsible parents. I stared at him, shocked, and asked why on earth he thought that.
His reply?
“Because you allow a fat stranger in the house every year.”
I just blinked at him, completely baffled, until it finally dawned on me:
he meant Santa!
The following Christmas, Nick asked if Santa was real. I asked if he truly wanted to know, and he said yes. He was veryrelieved when I told him the truth — he no longer had to worry about that stranger entering the house.
It’s been a long time since I chased the dream of a perfect Christmas. I learned soon after having Mae that there is no picture-perfect Christmas.
Our Christmas may look a little different from most people’s, but I’m more than okay with that. My kids have grown into adults who not only love to open gifts — they also love to give them.
Our Christmases remain perfectly imperfect.
And I’m okay with that… well, mostly okay.
The one thing that would make me entirely okay with our crazy Christmases?
A photo of my kids with Santa!
⭐ If this gave you a laugh or a memory of your own, hit that ⭐ and subscribe.
And if you’re curious whether I ever get my long-awaited Santa photo… well, me too. Follow my blog to see if it happens before Mae turns 30! (Hint, hint.)
Brain Fog & Brilliance 
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