Santa photos are a bit of a tradition in my family. My mum made sure every Christmas was documented on an old bloke’s lap. Actually, now that I look through the photo albums, she appears to have lost interest around 1976, which would have been when I was eight. Come to think of it, that’s when the photo albums stopped too. Not big on happy snaps, my folks.
Anyway, I’ve been particular about maintaining the tradition with my kids, despite the youngest being TERRIFIED of him.
In a blog called “Why me got no dolly?” I documented one particularly amusing harrowing visit:
Christmas can be confusing when you’re only two years old. Your parents take you to meet this scary guy in a red suit called Santa. You have to queue for ages, while people assure you there’s nothing to be afraid of (a sure sign there will be) and tell you to ask him for a present.
Your older sister has lots of things she wants, like Barbie dolls and toy boats and stuff, so you decide to ask for another dolly, because you really like dollies.
Finally, you are taken into a small room with the scary Santa man, who wants you to sit on his knee. There is no way you are going to sit on his knee. He is strange, and big and has all this white stuff on his chin. Your parents try to make you sit beside him instead, so a lady can take a photo. Mummy and Daddy expect to stand on the other side of the room while the photo is taken. There is no way that’s happening. You get a little hysterical at the mere suggestion.
Mummy and Daddy sit in the photo with you and your sister and the scary Santa man.
Eventually, after much coaxing, you tell Santa that you want a dolly.
A camera flashes a few times, you grudgingly agree to give the scary Santa man a high-five, and suddenly you are whisked outside into a dark corridor, while Mummy and Daddy negotiate to buy some very expensive photo of you looking petrified.
There’s just one problem – you don’t have a dolly. You were told to ask the scary Santa man for a present. You agreed to sit beside him. You asked him for the dolly. Where is the damn dolly?
You eventually settled for a half-priced snowman ornament. But you’d still like a dolly. Apparently you have to wait until something called “Christmas” comes, which sounds like an awfully long time away.
Fast-forward four years and Sprog 2 still wants a dolly (!!??) (this one needs to walk, talk and cry …) and still isn’t keen on the big guy in red (she wants me to ask him for the dolly – nuh, not happening).
Sooooo … the Sprogs and I decided to brave the city yesterday so they could go on the dinky train at Myer and see the David Jones Christmas window displays. I wasn’t entirely convinced that either were worth the trouble, but we went anyway.
I was relieved they didn’t want to do the David Jones Santa cave again, as it stole two hours from our lives last year. Those queues are horrendous. Myer was a five-minute wait. Fabbo.
Sadly, it seems kids aren’t allowed to sit on Santa’s knee any more. There were little padded ledges beside him for perching on instead. It didn’t feel quite the same and the pics look a bit impersonal. Bloody perverts, ruining things for everyone.
Sprog 2, bless her, is still at an age where self-consciousness hasn’t quite kicked in. So she decided to wear her Santa outfit into the city. (You should see her hula hooping in it, it’s really quite something. Someone suggested we put it on youtube, but – again – bloody pervents put the kibosh on that too.)
It was barely 10.30am when we exited Myer, but that didn’t stop us heading straight to Din Tai Fung for dumplings (and fried chicken and fried rice and pork buns). Sprog 2 pronounced the prawn and pork dumplings her new favourites and got really cross when I refused to buy her a third round, at $6.90 for four. Nom nom nom. Bellies full, we cruised the DJs windows.
We finished up with a quick stickybeak at the crystal Christmas tree in the QVB before heading back to the car – $15 for all-day parking, sweet.
I’d girded myself for a Christmas nightmare but it was fuss-free, fun and fattening. Like all the best festive occasions.
PS Here’s a little collage of my visits to the man in red. Isn’t it funny how we never noticed Santa’s facial features dramatically changing each year …
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