I remember going to Christmas parties at my mom's work as a kid. It was dreadful. Having everyone comment on how handsome I was, how much I'd grown... "Who the hell were these phonies" I would think. I especially hated the whole meeting Santa thing, as I learned the truth about the fat man from an early age. Yet every year I went. And every year I somehow managed to persevere in spite of these horrific circumstances.
Now it's my turn to inflict the same torture upon my children that was so harshly done to me. Though, I really only tell my older ones to take a picture alongside that jolly fat man for the sake of the Christmas picture. And if I do say so myself, they really ARE handsome! And they really ARE getting big. Aww.... I can't wait to torture them again next year!