My mom was always good about dragging me out to see Santa. Since I grew up in New York, there was a pretty consistent stream of wild looking characters, and me, usually in tears, in their lap. I will never forget the time Santa was actually a woman, but that is another story entirely.

When At-man was born I considered it mandatory to get the Santa photo. A group of friends met one day in December, all complaining about how their child burst into tears, making it impossible to get “the money shot”. I was full of fear, but somehow At-man was up to the task and worked it like a tiny super model. My first Christmas card of my parenting career was a success.

The following year we were back out at the mall, but could lightning possibly strike twice? Yes, the little guy not only smiled, but he added a royalty style wave as well. I figured I was just lucky to have a kid who liked Santa, and told myself that 2 kids would be different. But It wasn’t at all. Em, following in his brothers footsteps, LOVES Santa. He climbs right onto his lap, all squishy and snuggly. They laugh it up and discuss cookie flavors, like the best of friends.

This year I planned very carefully. At-man is tracked out of school and I kept Em home. They had their flu shot first thing this morning and I chose to use the Santa visit as the proverbial carrot so that they would make nice with the needle. While At-man was a champ, Em’s little feelings were very hurt. He is still too small to understand that mommy only puts them through such tortures so they will not have to endure days of vomiting and chills, so that I will hopefully not have to endure days of their fever and chills. He was pitiful, and I wondered what the hell I was thinking planning the Santa picture on this day.

Most people would simply can the idea, but I, the eternal optimist, held fast. With 3 kids in tow, I had gone through too much planning to back out now. I had D and his mother accompany us to the mall, there was no turning back. We got there with no line and the boys ran ahead before I could grab my hair brush and climbed all over Santa. Mae magically awoke and was too tired to protest when I handed her over to sit between the boys. I got behind the photographer and said “Say Heeley’s” And it was all over.

Now since the inception of digital photography, D is used to me directing every shoot the boys have been in. Many a photographer has cursed my existence, but I care not. It’s my 40.00 and I want what I want. Three shots and that was it. He looked up and said “We’re done? Are you SURE?” And we were. All three kids, awake and pleasant. No one was kicking the fat man, no grabbing or punching. My kids, who spend the better part of every day trying to think up new ways in which to torture one another, all looked good.

So it turns out my mom unknowingly began family tradition. Luckily the boys have yet to encounter a woman in a beard. Thanks Mom!