Ill-fated, you say? ILL FATED I SAY.
We arrived in the quaint little town of Cedarburg, just outside Santa's workshop around 4:30. There's parking everywhere! There's hardly a line! We exclaimed to one another. But just as we were about to exchange fool-hardy pats on the back, we discovered there was indeed a line. The line was just playing inside the community center. A line that was 45 minutes long. We shrugged. There's no turning back now, we reasoned, the children will not take kindly to leaving without seeing Santa. So we waited. That wasn't so bad, we sighed, when our 45 minutes were up. And, this is where the second blow arrives: we learn it will be another 45 minutes to an HOUR. Deep breaths, Patrick. Deep breaths. Since we couldn't face another 45 sweaty minutes in the gym we wandered slowly down the street to a candy shop I'd been eyeing for the past year. Perhaps you know it? It's the one with the $10 candy apples in the window? This is where we made another critical misstep. We bypassed those apple delights in favor of $5 chocolates that were...words fail me (I kid, this is never a problem)...an abomination! Not just any abomination, $20 abomination! For 5 pieces of lousy chocolate! Who puts pretzel salt in lieu of SEA SALT on a "sea salt & chocolate covered caramel?" WHO? My tongue was burned, people. Burned. Furthermore, for 20 bones it better be the best chocolate I've ever had. Or at least as good as a daggum Frango mint. Dejected, on the verge of hopelessness that we would ever see Santa, we slowly slowly wandered back toward Santa's sweatshop workshop only to have our second born drop his beloved $5 chocolate frog in the slush. Two blocks of chest beating and wailing later, we returned to await our fate. And then.
Finally, FINALLY at 6:34 it was our turn.
You know what though? Our kids thought it was the greatest night ever.
Did I just write the longest-winded definition of parenting, ever?
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