Santa! My, what a crusty beard you have!

It was about 9:00 Saturday morning when the Hubs called to tell me he the jolly 'ol elf had called in sick and that he was next in line.

I would be lying if I denied a sense of pride when I found out my husband would be playing Santa Claus. That sense of swelling pride was fleeting because following behind it was a minor freak-out about how nasty a rental Santa costume must be.  And the suit did not dissapoint.

The Hubs said the paper work in the rental Santa suit was from the 60's, and he was pretty sure the thing hadn't been washed since then.  Also, can someone please come check out his rash?  Because he's got something going on that "ain't been identified yet." (Name that Christmas movie!)

Just kidding. 

No rash.  (Much to my surprise.)

I would tell you all about the crusty yellow glue I spied in his mustache or the crunchy texture of the fur cuffs, but instead I'll let the pictures do the talking. 

All heebie jeebie "where has this suit been living for the past 364 days?" aside, we had a blast watching Newbie's first experience visiting Santa Claus.  He warmed up to him quickly when he recognized Daddy-O's voice, but would occasionally forget who's lap he was in and start crying because there's only so long anybody wants to sit on someone's knee while whack-o's yell and jump and sing and dance trying to get you to smile for one decent picture.  I found myself over-compensating for Newbie's lack of smile, but at least we look relatively happy, right?! 

 

 

And to all, a good night!