Archives of Our Lives

Here at Archives of Our Lives—a blog for the masses—our purpose is you. If you’re reading this post, it was written for you.  If this website is marked in your bookmarks or favourites or sidebar or iPhone or anything else tech-y, you might as well consider it your very own website, because I am thinking solely of the readers as I type my posts.

Now I’m just repeating old stuff—you can read all about how much I value readers right here.

If you’re new to the blog, you might not be familiar with how things work.  Throughout the weeks and months of writing posts and reading people’s comments, I keep a running list of questions I’ve been asked.  The queries range anywhere from whether I like my mother-in-law, to what kind of camera I use, to what am I doing with my life, to why am I so lazy.

It can be interesting, and it can be boring.  I try to keep things lively, but I need to have questions to answer if I’m going to keep this Thursday routine going.  I still have a list of reserve questions that need to be answered, but I’m always anxious to hear more.  So please feel free to ask me anything—truly, anything—and I’ll get to your question sooner or later (sooner, if I find it interesting enough).

Today’s question comes from a reader I’ve never met before.

Q, from JoannaChristine:

Even though I don’t really know you, I am from Mesa too so I feel like we could be sisters. Anyway, if your birth control did in fact, fail you unexpectedly, what would you name your baby/ies? (Not including any character from any of the Twilight series.)

A, from Me:

Hello JoannaChristine!  Nice to “meet” you.  I like Mesa, and I like people from Mesa, so we’ll get along splendidly.

This is a good question, actually.  I do plan on having children someday, if I am able, and I have, indeed thought of what I will name my boys.  (I am convinced that this world needs more good men, and there should be willing mothers to raise a generation of good boys.  I’m volunteering.  That’s not to say I’ll be miserable if I only have girls [I once heard a tale of an expecting mother who said she wanted only a girl, and if her baby was a boy, she’d rather send it back than raise it.  I think that’s a very scary way to enter motherhood, myself, but to each her own…], nevertheless, I do think I would be able to raise a slew of outstanding boys.  I get along well with boys.)

Okay, enough with the tangent.  Yes, I have thought of a lot of cute boy names (and a few girl ones, too).  But there’s no way I will announce them on the internet for all the world to read—do you think me daft, JoannaChristine?  There are about a million of my peers who are in the motherly way right now, and all it takes is one person announcing their favourite names online, and BAM!  Every kid born that year has the same name, or a randomly-spelled variation of it.

So no.  I will not tell you.  [Also, I don’t know why you would think I would name my kids Jasper or Edward or Bella or Carlisle.  I have never really gone on about loving Twilight; in fact, though I enjoyed the books, I’ve only read each one a single time, and I still haven’t seen the movie.  So I’m not NEARLY as big a fan as, say, Busy Bee Lauren… She’s the one you need to worry about!]  But I will tell you the first initial of my first boy, which is only if my sister doesn’t beat me to the punch, because she’s also a huge fan of the name: P.

She’s already got one P, though.  I don’t know why she has to be so greedy with all the Ps.

Another thing I’ll tell you is what I won’t name my boys:

Reginald.  Sir George.  Master of the Universe.  Earnest Fitzgerald.  Fitzwilliam Darcy (though I highly admire the character).  Bo Diddly.  Pumba.  Dimitrius.  Hugoslavia.  Vladimar.  Quigley.  Gilligan.  Squidworth.  Or any initials—if I want my child to be Jon Junior, I will call him Jon Junior.  If I want his name to be Jayjay, I will name him Jayjay.  None of this J.J. stuff.  He can make up his own initials if he wants to be an author someday.

Did that answer your question?  No, not at all.  But maybe it gave you an insight into my life.  And when I do have a baby, I’ll announce it here first.

It will make my grandma mad, but she’ll love me anyway.

I know Santa Claus.  Well, in my case, I am related to the man who portrays Santa Claus at the local (read: 30 miles away) shopping mall.  He’s been doing it for years, and he’s good at what he does.

The first year I lived in Canada, back before I had ever heard of Poor Kyle [let alone imagined baking baby buns in my womb with him], I volunteered at Santa’s Photo Shop at the mall during the hours I wasn’t attending classes.  I say “volunteered,” because then, as now, I was not legal to work in Canada. And then, as now, Santa Claus “donated” a lump sum to the Camille Fund on December 25th, after all the Santa photos had been taken.  A Christmas gift, of sorts.

It’s that time of the year again, and I’m back to volunteering with Old Saint Nick and the Merry Maids of the Mall.  Dripping with cynicism.  The story of my life.  {As a side note: why do I only seem to land jobs that make me hate the world in general?  Something to ask my shrink when I’m rich enough to afford one, I suppose.}

Anyway, I’ve only been {volunteering} for a few days now, but already I can feel the disenchantment oozing from every nerve in my body.  Something about unruly kids harpooned by ignorant parents…the whole situation really gets to me.

Heh.  Poor Kyle’s not here to defend himself, so I’m using his childhood as an example for all the world.  Poor, poor Poor Kyle.

So in an attempt to keep things positive around here, I’ve decided to do my part to change the world.  I’ve compiled a list of the 13 worst things a person can do when attempting to get portraits with Santa.  Keep in mind this is a smaller city than some, and our outfit is rather small-scale compared to malls in Vegas or L.A.  A photo costs $5.00, and we only accept cash.  But most of my rules apply to mainstream humanity as a whole, so read them carefully and apply them to your lives to the best of your ability.

Trust me: the rules will keep Santa’s helpers from calling you an idiot as soon as you walk away.

13 Things to Avoid at Santa’s Photo Booth:

(in no particular order)

1.  Don’t ask to preview the photo of your child (or yourself) before you buy.  In our setup, we don’t have a way of showing the customers their photo without having them step behind our counter and look at the image on our laptop, which puts a major kink in our lineup and will essentially ruin our day.  We all know you’re going to buy the picture no matter what–so why are you bothering?  I always take multiple photos if I can tell someone’s eyes are closed, so you’ll always at least get eye contact.  What more can a person want?

You might get a gem; you might not.  Take what comes and consider them all precious.  Photo courtesy of my mother-in-law.

2.  Don’t tell me you want a certain package, as a final answer, and then change your mind. Make a dadgum decision.  The way our shop works, the photos print out right away.  Since I am a quick worker volunteer, once you make a choice, I click the button and the photos start printing.  Changing one’s mind is a waste of money, because I won’t give away the decided-against photos; I would rather throw them in the garbage than give them to an idiot.  I’m spiteful that way.

3.  Don’t bring your parents. That’s the point of buying a picture: showing people later.  In my experience, parents and in-laws who accompany their children/grandchildren to Santa’s Photo Shop have too many opinions.  They hem and haw over what package to get, casting doubt into the souls of their adult children, and it irks me.  Leave them home.

4.  Don’t give me a $50.00 bill for a photo that costs $5.00. Go buy yourself a hamburger and get some bloody change; I don’t have much to spare.

5.  If I am turned away from the camera, don’t plop your child on Santa’s lap and look at me expectantly. I’m not just gabbing to customers, I’m trying to do a million things at once.  If you wait until I nod you in, I will be able to capture that **sigh** magical moment when your child sees Santa for the first time.  If you take matters into your own hands, your child’s smile will be forced and un-magical in every way.  And I will hate you for it.

Oh, Poor Kyle.  How were you such a heartthrob, even as a baby?

6.  Don’t ask me where the proceeds go. They go to Santa.  And me all the workers putting up with children for hours on end.  Our particular Santa does donate a percentage of his proceeds to Toys for Tots™ at the end of the year, but is it really anybody’s business?  He provides a service which people pay for.  It’s called capitalism or something.

7.  Read the signs and price charts on the counter before asking me anything. And make sure to read all the words.  Yes, it’s cash only.  Yes, it’s $5.00.  No, we don’t take debit.  Common sense would be nice, though.

8.  Don’t stand ten feet to the left of me while you’re making your child laugh. It will result in a picture of your child laughing…at you.  Not at the camera.  If you’re one of those die-hard parents determined to get your kid smiling, at least come stand by the photographer.

9.  Don’t hover.  Really.  It bothers me. If you have disregarded Rule #1 and asked to see your photo, I will allow you to look at my monitor for a brief few seconds.  Asking me to click through each photo (which need to be brightened, centered, and bordered every time they’re clicked on), is foolish.  I will pick the one wherein the subject looks best.  If I want your opinion, I will ask.  If you’re lucky enough to get a preview, please don’t crowd me.  Especially if you’re a mouth-breather who smacks gum.

10.  Don’t ask me how it looks. If you were standing there to the side, you were watching every movement your child made as I attempted to capture a digital representation of the special moment with my Cannon™.  You saw the instant the flash went off.  How does it look?  Like a picture.

11.  If I ask you what size you want, don’t shrug your shoulders. We have examples of each size; please look at them and make your decision.  If you don’t know what size you want, I don’t know, either.  Asking me is a bad idea.

12.  Don’t force. I’ve seen it a million times: a child that starts out hesitantly, clinging with all their might to a parent, and who becomes more agitated with each step toward Santa, will never take a smiling picture.  If you want a screaming picture, by all means, continue.  But once a child is already screeching on Santa’s lap, there’s no coming back from that.  There’s no coaxing laughter out of a wailing child.  It will never happen.  Don’t just stand there, thinking I’ll be able to make it happen.  I can’t.  And I’ll stop trying.  And your child will hate you for it.

Probably the most important thing you can do for yourself this holiday season is…

13.  Lower your expectations. This may not apply to your marriage, your grades, your Christmas decorations, or anything else over which you have a remote sense of control, but it certainly applies to your children.  They are human beings…with thoughts and opinions which you can gently guide, but ultimately have no real power to change.  You’ve probably taught them to avoid strangers (especially ones with candy), so a creepy looking man with an outstretched candy cane-bearing hand probably seems really suspicious to a child.  If they don’t take the bait, live with it.  If they do, and all you get out of your photo is merely eye contact…pay and walk away: you’ve been blessed.

Poor Kyle would have been one of those kids easily bribed.  See this photo?  Licorice in one hand (and a spare in his lap), sucker in the other, and who knows what in that bowl…  Lucky dog.