SANTA CLAUS AT BELVEDERE CASTLE: Vacationing Hometown Hero spotted

Over pancake prep this morning, my dad and I talked shop about New York's most popular native son, St. Nick.



Dad - did you know that we owe it all to Washington Irving, of Sleepy Hollow fame, who first popularized "Santa Claus" as we know him, based on the Christmas hero of Dutch legend?



Yes, Dad, Santa Claus is a New Yorker.

Mmmm. This batter needs more blueberries.



Just hours later, we spotted Santa Claus at Belvedere Castle in Central Park!!

Turns out, he was sneaking in a little R & R in advance of his busy season...



Here I am promising not to tell The Post where to find him. You can imagine the field day they'd have with this information..."SANTA-SLACKER?!"



A gentleman's agreement: my silence... in exchange for a chugga-chugga Choo Choo Train under the tree on Christmas morning. And some lollipops.



George doesn't get it. He thinks we should call US WEEKLY.



Mom convinces George that we can't call the 'razzi on Santa: that's just NOT cool.



I'm telling Santa that my word is golden. From one New Yorker to another... as long as he gets back to the North Pole and loads up that sleigh before Wednesday.



He said he's leaving town on a red-eye tonight.

And his gratitude for my discretion will be under Ama and Papa Dave's tree on Christmas morning!

O TANNENBAUM

The best thing about Christmas this year is all the traditions I get to share with George.

..."And then Santa comes, and he leaves presents for us under the Christmas tree!"...



..."and Santa puts presents for every girl and boy underneath their own Christmas trees!"...



..."but the biggest, most beautiful and special tree in the whole world is in New York City, at Rockefeller Center!"...



..."and this weekend, we are going to go and SEE THAT MAGIC TREE LIVE AND IN PERSON!"...



Cut to that weekend.

I got the croup, and George had fevers/a cold/upper respiratory issues.

Long story short: we trekked out in the sub-zero weather to see the tree.



George slept through it. I was cranky. Mom and Dad were grilled by the drunk Santas who showed up for Santacon.



All told, I think Al Roker oversold the special-ness of this tree.

TUMMY TIME

OK, have you all heard of this?



"TUMMY Time"?

Torture Time is more like it.



Hey, I'm all for an ab workout... but how am I supposed to develop core strength with this clown trying to distract me all the time?



He's doing his Jack Nicholson impersonation again. How is that helping me?



Look, I get it. I'm the younger brother, and I need to accept my position gracefully and work with it.



But HE needs to know that I am on to him. I can see his antics from a mile away.



Alright, alright, Luke.

If he wasn't so affectionate, he might really bug me.

UPPER WEST SIDE SAMSON SHEDS (SOME) CURLS!

The venue: Kidville, the most exclusive kid-salon in Manhattan

The mission: Luke's first haircut

The wing man: Baby George



Here I am, with overgrown tresses!

My salon stylist Maureen ("just call me Mo") was a consummate professional, and allayed all my fears.



She cuts all the celebs' kids hair -- Kevin Bacon, Duchovney, Madonna... they all see Mo when they want to get cleaned up.



George, man, you are FREAKING ME OUT! Is it that short??!!



Talk to me, George.



Oh, I get it, you were just playing. Don't scare me, little brother!



I'm liking it! All this PLUS a lollipop right now and a pizza lunch to follow?

Mo: let's book a monthly standing appointment.

THE LITTLEST PILGRIM

This year I celebrated my first Thanksgiving!



I have to say, it's my kind of holiday...lots of drinking and eating and kicking around in front of the fire.



Everyone was having so much fun that no one even noticed I skipped my first nap of the day!



...AND my second! (I'm such a scamp.)



My brother is cleverly concealing a fistful of candy corn here.



Watch this! He tries to deflect mom's attention by kissing her hand!



I cannot BELIEVE that move worked.



Here's our whole family...just moments before we sat down to a fantastic feast that culminated in a final course devoted entirely to PIES!



Grandy, I tell you, these holidays are going to be hell on my waistline.