Cheryl is back with a Worst Mom Christmas Moment (ahh, so festive). So how far do the rest of you go to keep the Santa thing alive? I can safely say I’ve done all that Cheryl has and more (okay, maybe not more — this is, after all, just a snapshot into her world). But I’m pretty sure this is why I like her so much. We’re both completely INSANE.
Of utmost importance to me was keeping the magic of Santa alive for my kids. I felt that it was the one part of childhood that really needed preserving because once they don’t believe in the jolly old elf, it’s just a day where I am giving them crap they’ve asked for. In order to accomplish this mission, I employed several stealthy maneuvers.
- No presents went under our tree unless they were from other people before Xmas Eve.
- Santa was a leftie, and I am a rightie. Santa’s leftie writing looked like a serial killer, and he could only claw out capital letters, but he certainly didn’t write like me.
- Santa only had two wrapping papers (that he got from Costco, so they will last through the end of days). He stored them at our house, because if he wrapped them in the north pole, they’d get all kinds of torn up during the flight.
- He once left bits of his clothing and beard on our chimney and lawn. He must have had a particularly tight squeeze down our gas fireplace chimney that year.
You get the point. So it’s Christmas Eve, and my son was about 7 at the time, and still very much a believer in the Big Guy. My daughter was 2. I had tucked them in, after reading ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, and given both stern admonitions to NOT COME DOWN THE STAIRS. If you need to pee, pee. Get back in bed. DO NOT COME DOWN THE STAIRS or Santa won’t be able to come. Promises given, I kissed them, and went downstairs to join my mom and my husband in wrapping the bazillion gifts we had stashed all over the house.
All of a sudden, I hear a sound behind me, and my husband says, uh, honey, and I turn around as my son is walking down the hallway, heading straight for wrapping central.
Clearly taken aback, I scream and then throw a block at him, pushing him back about six feet, in a move that would have made an NFL linebacker proud. He looks at me with hurt in his eyes and says, I just wanted to tell you that I thought I heard something on the roof.
“Of course you did…that was PROBABLY SANTA, and now he PROBABLY won’t be able to come, because YOU CAME DOWN THE STAIRS!!! NOW get back up there!!”
Who felt awful for clotheslining their child on the night before Christmas? This girl did. And does. Funny thing is, he doesn’t even remember it.