Some years I take the babies and children I work with to see Santa.
I love it. They look so cute, the older ones get so excited and nervous; they infect me with Xmassy good feelings.
I’m a sucker for Christmas anyway, so it’s not hard to get my good-cheer-meter rising and since I love being with the babies and kids, putting the two together makes my day. If I got to also eat a too-big bowl of pasta while watching TV in my pyjamas at the end that day, I’d pretty much be in heaven.
I don’t have children (yet, I hope!) but I just assume I’ll love taking them to see Santa. I assume that I would jealously preside over such events, fighting off those who’d take on the task as though I were protecting my magical goose that lays golden eggs while writing pithy articles, curing cancer and inventing perpetual motion machines. Continue reading