Having children who believe in Santa makes Christmas so much fun. Ever since Andrew has been old enough to understand Santa and Christmas and the whole gig, I've thoroughly enjoyed playing Santa Claus.
Once "that day" comes (and you know the one ... the one when some little punk ass ruins my kids' idea of what Christmas is all about ... the one when that little punk ruins MY fun by ruining my children's belief in magic), I'm going to be devastated. I've actually sweated it since Andrew understood what Christmas was all about. When we would go to my brother's for Christmas Eve, I worried that my nephew would spill the beans. I just don't want that magic to go away. It's like reliving my own Christmas and belief in Santa. And it's a second childhood. It's just awesome.
Last year we didn't have a chance to make it to see Santa. Each of our weekends when we would normally visit Santa were too busy to make the drive to see him, so we tried something different: we wrote letters and sent them to the North Pole. When Santa didn't deliver everything the boys asked for in these letters, they decided that wasn't going to work again this year, so Davis requested that we go directly to the North Pole to see Mr. Claus himself. He needed to see him and make sure that he understands what he wants exactly.
Since I'm not a big fan of the cold; and traveling to the North Pole is completely unreasonable this late in the season, we tried what I could imagine to be the next best thing - Hersheypark Candy Cane Lane.
In the end, the money spent, the aggravation of too many damn people, and the occasional whining emitted from my children's mouths are all well-worth the smiles and giggles and happiness they get from these moments ... I wouldn't trade it for the world.
Once "that day" comes (and you know the one ... the one when some little punk ass ruins my kids' idea of what Christmas is all about ... the one when that little punk ruins MY fun by ruining my children's belief in magic), I'm going to be devastated. I've actually sweated it since Andrew understood what Christmas was all about. When we would go to my brother's for Christmas Eve, I worried that my nephew would spill the beans. I just don't want that magic to go away. It's like reliving my own Christmas and belief in Santa. And it's a second childhood. It's just awesome.
Last year we didn't have a chance to make it to see Santa. Each of our weekends when we would normally visit Santa were too busy to make the drive to see him, so we tried something different: we wrote letters and sent them to the North Pole. When Santa didn't deliver everything the boys asked for in these letters, they decided that wasn't going to work again this year, so Davis requested that we go directly to the North Pole to see Mr. Claus himself. He needed to see him and make sure that he understands what he wants exactly.
Since I'm not a big fan of the cold; and traveling to the North Pole is completely unreasonable this late in the season, we tried what I could imagine to be the next best thing - Hersheypark Candy Cane Lane.
In the end, the money spent, the aggravation of too many damn people, and the occasional whining emitted from my children's mouths are all well-worth the smiles and giggles and happiness they get from these moments ... I wouldn't trade it for the world.