πŸ“·πŸŽ„πŸŽ…πŸ»βœ¨πŸŽ„πŸŽ…πŸ»βœ¨πŸŽ„βœ¨πŸŽ„πŸ“·
  1. β€’
    Age 2: Has anyone ever stopped to wonder what it was that Satan, I mean Santa, was even saying to me here? I mean, clearly, he has whispered something in my ear that has left me in absolute emotional ruin.
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    Also, Evil Santa, I don't think Real Santa wears a watch, because time is irrelevant when you have MAGIC. Why don't you come back when you're serious about your seasonal job and can tell time by noting the position of the sun? And p.s. stop scaring babies.
  2. β€’
    Age 3: I'm no body language expert, but I believe what that face is trying to say is, "No amount of tickling will make me okay with this."
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    Thanks for thinking of me, tho.
  3. β€’
    Age 5: Three things: I don't like how BIG Santa's hand is, I don't like *where* Santa's hand is, and I don't like the way he's looking at me.
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    If there was a fourth thing it would be that I DO like this sweater.
  4. β€’
    Age 7: This is huge: the year my sister's hair stopped looking like it had been raised by wolves. This was also the year I discovered lip gloss, my natural highlights, and the joys of personalization.
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    Sidenote: MY hair continues to look like it was raised by wolves, even to this very day.
  5. β€’
    Age 8: I'm pretty sure I loved this outfit because of how much it reminded me of both a Christmas-y Colonel Sanders and a Candy Striper. Also, my skin was on fleek, my lip gloss is still poppin' and I'm not even mad at my sister's rad wristwatch because MY knee socks had Christmas trees on them.
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    #winning
  6. β€’
    Age 9: πŸŽ™"Hello, America! Federated Department Stores CEO Howard Goldfeder here to announce that this Christmas, we are sponsoring a nationwide search for THE MOST PREPPY CHILDREN IN AMERICA and-- oh wait, never mind, we found them."
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    Don't be fooled by the duck sweater, Howard. My parents used to live in an actual chicken coop.
  7. β€’
    Age 10: Did I know this would be our last photo? For one thing, we barely fit on Santa's lap. I have a home perm, am dressed like a Yellow Cab, & am on the cusp of an awkward phase t'would span years--during which my face would erupt & my heart would break 100 times. It was a fleeting thoughtβ€”the knowing, but I can almost see it on my face here.
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    On the other hand, maybe I had no idea. Maybe what I'm seeing is the fresh disappointment from receiving my very first rejection letter for my poetry submission to that children's literary magazine. Whatever, "Stone Soup." My grandmother didn't even have an attic, she lived in a mobile home park in Ft. Meyers.