Santa Brunch

This weekend was our Country Club’s annual Brunch With Santa (aka. Santa and mimosas!). Peyton and her best friend talked some biiiiig talk about sitting on Santa’s lap and what they were going to ask for. Topping Pey’s Santa list are: a rainbow wand (because one color just isn’t enough), a dollhouse with a big door (to accommodate Barbie-sized Anna and Elsa), and a new play kitchen. However, when it came time to see the big guy, this was the result:She wouldn’t sit on him or stand in front of him, she lurked behind him, but refused to walk away. The line behind us just kept growing and growing. Finally, we had to send in grandma to air-lift her out of there. At least she looked cute.

Dress from Gap, headband from Etsy

London is still young enough to be blissfully unaware of the [apparent] horror of Santa, an we managed to get a few cute photos of her:

Daddy and his girls! My parents came across the state for the brunch; always fun to get together with them! Peyton is white-knuckling a ring pop. She had about 4, which is more sugar than she has in a normal week. She was a sugar-crazed, sticky mess. But it helped her get over “that Santa guy” as she called him.

Funny tidbit: Santa’s beard was REAL. Trust me, I always check. We were one of the last groups to leave the party, David and my brother take London and go to get the car for me and Peyton, as we get our coats from the coatroom. As we were walking out, Santa strolls out of the bar (no judgement, I’d be throwing back moose mugs of eggnog if I had to deal with multiple kids on me!!) Anyway, the lap portion of the brunch had been done for well over an hour, and this Santa is STILL in costume. He sees us and gives us an extra jolly “ho! ho! ho!” and calls Peyton by name. Sure, maybe he remembered her specifically because she was a hot mess when we were there, or maybe he was the real deal. THEN. He throws his Santa sack over his shoulder, and does the finger to the nose wink just like in The Night Before Christmas, and says he has to get back to feed Prancer. Peyton and I are standing there, mouths open in awe. I manage to tell him to fly safely back to the North Pole. We walk out, just as Santa is hopping into his BRIGHT RED Ford F250. And as if that wasn’t enough, as he pulled away, we caught a glimpse of his license plate. MRMRSC.

Coincidence? I think not!

You can be the judge, but I’m 95% sure that he was the real deal.