After the debacle yesterday, I faced my fears and took the kids to have their photo taken with Santa.
I had to. I do it every year. It’s just one of those things.
That, and the guilt about not getting Christmas cards out was really getting to me.
Godzilla, rather than smile normally, did the “smile for the camera smile” and looked like he was either constipated or in great pain. Or both.
Grumpy, later, went and picked the photos up, got some copies of the one good photo their was (when I say good, I mean “barely acceptable” but it will do) and did so well that I suggested he do the Christmas cards.
(A job I, allegedly, love to do. According to Grumpy who just uses this excuse to get out of doing it this year)
The instructions were explicit. We are not sending cards to everyone. We are sending to a select few. And only add the good photo to the cards of the recipients most expecting them (ie grandparents and some very, very close family friends). Oh, and save a photo for each of the kids. For their photo albums.
(So they can be added to the collection of photos in boxes I already have, that are located next to the empty photo albums that I have, and will, one day, when I have time, be put into the empty albums)
He completes his task, and leaves the remnants for me to tidy up for him. Aww, isn’t he sweet.
I find two photos, dodgy ones, and no more. “Where are the rest?”, in enquire.
“Sent” is the response I was dreading and hoping I wouldn’t hear.
“So. Let me see. You sent all the good photos, despite me asking you to keep some, and then sent out just about all the crap photos?”
“Yes.” The second, dreaded response.
“Crap photos to friends and relatives?”