I loved the lights, the festivities, the good cheer, the family gatherings and, of course, the presents. But here's my primary (and probably sole) grievance with respect to Christmas: I don't buy into the Santa Claus charade. Why, you ask? Because it's a charade and I'm no fool. Mommy made one very egregious error, if she expected me to believe in Santa Claus. She took me to get my picture taken with two different Santa Clauses in one day. The week before Christmas, we met Wells and Brady at Macy's and we all got our picture taken with Santa (as you will see in the pictures below, I was less than thrilled to have my photograph taken because mommy had just woken me up from a wonderful slumber in my stroller... but the old guy didn't look so thrilled to be there himself). Then, later that day, mommy and daddy took me to see the Zoo Lights at Lincoln Park Zoo and I got another picture taken with Santa (I was more my photogenic self the second time around).
And, guess what? The two Santas I saw that day were not the same person. How might one explain this inconsistency? Hmmmm? Mommy says that the men posing as Santa for pictures aren't the real Mr. Claus. They only work for him. I am, as always about everything, skeptical.
Here are my other Santa queries: How can someone so fat can make it down a chimney? And what about little kids who live in apartment buildings, or houses without chimneys? How does Santa Claus get to them? And why does he wear that ridiculous red suit? Finally, why did mommy dress me up in a Santa outfit on Christmas morning and prop me up on a slippery floor on which I could barely hold myself up? I look like Bambi dressed up as Santa Claus in the pictures below.
Even though I have my doubts about Santa, I really enjoyed the holidays nonetheless. Grandma, Grandpa and Uncle Steve came to stay with us for the week of Christmas. I sure loved having them here.
I was baptized on the Sunday before Christmas. The ceremony was really nice... until the end when things got very ugly. Everything was going smoothly until they started to undress me, right there in the church, in front of EVERYBODY. Then the priest picked me up, naked as the day I was born, and dunked me - three times, mind you - into a font near the alter. And this was no symbolic splashing of water onto the baby's head. I was submerged neck-deep in water. Needless to say, I did not enjoy that one bit and I let everyone in that church know it. It took me a while to recover from that traumatizing experience. A little forewarning would have been nice (and I'm talking to both of you, mommy and daddy). Of course M & D dropped the ball yet again on that.
The major highlight of the baptism is that now I have godparents (my mommy's cousin Allin and his lovely wife Anca) and they're really cool. When I can't rely on mommy and daddy (which happens often), I will have a second set of parents I can turn to. And I know that Allin and Anca won't let me down.
On Christmas Eve, in addition to Grandma, Grandpa and Uncle Steve, we had my new godparents and the rest of mommy's side of the family over for dinner. Eighteen people total. It was a loud, chaotic, cheerful, boisterous, wonderful night. There was lots of drinking, a beautiful dinner, christmas caroling, and a heated game of White Elephant. It was perfect and I wouldn't have wanted to spend my first Christmas any other way.
Love,
WFT
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