Cracked Bucket

So my digital camera and my crock pot have both sh*t the bed. Same day. We'll be enjoying blurry pictures over our last riberrific crock-potted dinner. As a way of honoring the passing of the pot-o-easy-dinners-I-forgot-I-made-until-I-came-home-and-smelled-their-all-done-goodness and the blurry death bleats of my little Canon a little spirit of Scrooge photo narrative.

T'was letter writing to Santa night and I thought I'd snap some pics. Sean helped the girls pen the letters, it all seemed innocent enough with Dad and the girls gathered 'round the table.



Sweet updates on behavior and modest lists on construction paper,
signed by the girls in blue and pink.



Then came each of their names,
cut with crafty scissors from extra sheets of colored paper,
artfully arranged on the floor.



Then pictures by the tree...
criss-cross applesauce
Harder than you might imagine.



Ok, now one more shot by the tree.
Atta girl, mama's letters now seem like a ransom note
and the letters to Santa were just a ruse for photos by my captor.