With the tables all full, we "got to" sit at the bar.
You had two options with breakfast: take it or leave it. They gave everyone some scrambled eggs, a couple sausage links, and some French toast sticks. Kids could choose OJ or milk, adults could and did choose coffee. I guess the kids could have chosen coffee too, but they were comparatively well rested.
If it has "oatmeal" in the name, it's a suitable breakfast food, right?
Fortified with a hearty Irish-ish breakfast, the girls went and sat on Santa's lap.
A little overawed, Y couldn't remember what she wanted to ask for (so she'll get nothing. Nothing, I say!).
Her sister, meanwhile, couldn't stop talking. We actually left her with Santa and I assume she's still talking eight hours later.
We have a tradition of pictures of our children brought to tears by Santa Claus. The tradition is alive and well:
They did reach a milk-mediated truce, however uneasy:
You can tell from the picture, she doesn't trust him one bit. She doesn't trust him as far as she's about to throw that bottle when it's empty.
But we did manage to get all the girls in for one picture.
Someone's still not trusting this dude.
Also, the older girls got balloon animals.
I mean, what would breakfast with Santa be without a ridiculously large candy cane and a poodle on a balloon leash?
Appalling, that's what. Fortunately, Fiddler's Hearth is a good place, run by good people, with sound judgment. Here's your balloon animal. Merry Christmas.