Santa still came for the daycare kids, and he was a dud. He didn't invite any kids to sit on his lap; rather he just tossed little toys to all the kids and then sat there, alone. Halfway through the party his belt buckle popped off. The man in the suit was too big for the costume. The whole thing was very disappointing to me, because you know how I love my annual photos of my Jewish kids on Santa's lap. I love their small moment of exposure to big Christmas.
All was not lost, though, because we still got to cause a typical noteverstill-style workplace commotion. L got sugar-fueled upset that the candy canes were blue instead of red, and then that I tried to take a few pictures of her brother when she wanted me to take a few of her new bear. So she threw herself to the floor and rolled over the shoes of two of the agency's highest ranking executives. They both, each of them just having recently learned my name in the past two months, made sure to say "Hi, Robin." They both have kids, you'd point out to me if you knew them, but what are the odds their kids ever rolled over the toes of their supervisors' supervisors' supervisors' supervisors?
It's because I told you she almost never has any tantrums any more, isn't it?