When Marley was 4 years old, we went to see the mall Santa. The line was long. I could tell that Marley was unsure of sitting with Santa. Not because he was a strange man in a red suit, but that he was on to her. I had spent a good part of the last few days reminding her that Santa knows if you've been bad or good. Hence- nervous that Jolly 'ol Saint Nick might just tell her that he knew about the sharpie on the window sills, tantrums at Target, and general disagreement on all things bedtime. So there we stood, Gentile clan in tow when Marley threw up. Every where. Mothers grabbed up their own off spring in high alert of a stomach flu epidemic. The poor wee thing was so nervous that she couldn't keep her french fries down. I still feel guilty. And Marley still gets nervous. Which is why I bring you Ghosts of nervous Santa past photos.
