Samuel's Christmas Program

Just got a an e-mail from Target. They were letting me know that I can still order some prints from the photo shoot a couple months ago. Uh, no thanks. The photographer was new and timid and the girl training her was so mean to her. I had to tell her to just take the pictures because she kept waiting for the perfect smile that I knew was never going to happen. The result?

So that reminded me that I still haven't posted about Samuel's preschool program. Just thinking about it kind of makes me my stomach turn. Because it makes me think of all the reasons it was my fault that it was such a disaster (being a mommy is hard! I feel so completely inadequate. Ugh). He was probably hungry, he was probably tired and we were late so he was probably frazzled, (we always are... but doesn't his outfit look great?). But I do have to remember that singing with 100 other little kids, in front of a ton of people, wearing a red sticker on his nose, with paper reindeer antlers just might not be his thing. And that is not my fault. Yeah, keep telling yourself that, Christina.

So it makes me even more sick when I think about how I didn't get a single picture of the disaster. So, picture this... We rush in. Samuel, at the sight of his class lined up with red stickers on their noses, immediately reacts by grabbing my hand and getting teary eyed. He will not let me leave his side. I hand off my bag with my camera to Karl and tell him to go save us a seat. Yeah, right, there are absolutely no seats available. There is no standing room. Samuel is on the verge of a throw-yourself-on-the-ground-and-yell-real-loud tantrum the whole time. I am afraid to take off and he doesn't want to leave. I end up walking to the stage with all the little munchkins. I end up crouching on the side of the stage (obviously not out of sight as Karl told me it looked like Samuel and I were fighting the whole time, I was just trying to convince him to let me go). 100 little kids are singing. Samuel is sitting on stage looking something like this:

At some point, my mom comes in to the over crowded room, can't see Samuel (because he is sitting down) and leaves, thinking she must have come to the wrong program. The program ends, there is punch and cookies in the classroom, and Samuel is all smiles. Maybe because he was starving. Maybe because he knows he doesn't have to perform anymore. His teachers thought it was funny because during practices, he was the loudest kid.

I know, I know. I need to get over it, but if I could do it over again, I would have:

-Put him to bed earlier the night before.

-Fed him a huge meal before.

-Not worried about his perfect outfit and just get him there.

-Kept my camera with me so I could get a photo of him performing (or not performing, whichever).

I did get some shots of the after party. He was much happier. Well, except when I wanted to get a picture of him with his teacher. Look at him dodge her. He is intently telling Santa he wants a remote control helicopter (even though he had been telling me for weeks that he wanted a race car track thing and even though we went all over town searching for the race car track thing and even though we already bought the race car track thing).

Look at Samuel and Santa cracking up at something. Love it.

It might seem unfair that you have energy and speed that any athlete strives for.  Or that your luscious lips leave any model coveting.  Or that you have a gorgeous face.  Or that your sense of humor can make even the grumpiest of old men smile.  Yeah, it might seem unfair.  But after this night, it all makes sense that it all just kind of balances out, doesn't it?  God made you so stinkin' cute for a reason.   (Grandma, thank you so much for hat... made to Samuel's order, none the less).