I DO believe in Santa! But my kids are skeptical little hoodlums...
Hello and welcome back Wild Boy friends and family. Yes, there's been a delay, and I won't even apologize because I took a vacation from work for a week which clearly means I had a week of laying around reading, eating bon bons, taking naps, and enjoying day drinking.
Ha!!! No, it was totally jam packed with holiday festivities. But well worth it - the cop and I got a tremendous amount done in three short days so I'll call it a win. I got to enjoy two Thanksgivings, and then several days of stretch pants. As it turns out I should always plan days off for after major eating holidays because the several days of recovery means that nobody risks losing an eye when a button on my work uniform gets launched from post-feast stress fatigue. I'm looking out for the good of the department, here.
Here in la Casa, we LOVE Christmas. The cop has to force me to wait until the day after Thanksgiving to decorate, but the Christmas music starts in October. Can't help it, I love it. It's the happiest time of year. But with the Wild Boys getting older, it's been a definite juggling act trying to maintain the magic of the season and deal with their analytical, somewhat cynical baby cop minds. That's what happens when you're raised in law enforcement. There's not any room for ignorant bliss because your parents and all your uniformed "uncles" forget that kids hear everything and then you get a call from the school, or in some instances Christian pre-school, asking if you can curb your child's enthusiasm when it comes to describing things like where people hide their crank. Our kids lessons on anatomy have come from overhearing some pretty entertaining but 100% inappropriate conversations about the necessity of strip searches when booking at the jail.
Last year Gav asked me if Santa was real. Because the other fourth graders said he's not. And by God, I wasn't ready to give up the one bit of magic they have, but he's way too smart to believe in magic. I knew that if he found out he'd immediately tell Gabe, and dang it second grade is just too early. So I told him that Santa only brings presents and fills stockings for kids that believe. I knew this would buy silence because that kid loves him some presents.
When they asked about store Santas I employed the old "they are Santa's helpers" line.
And when they asked why they didn't have an Elf on the Shelf I explained that we don't encourage burglary, vandalism or stalking, so that miniature felon isn't welcome in this damn house.
Two out of three isn't bad.
This year we continued our Casa tradition of going to the small town Christmas tree lighting. The cop has to work it, and pretty much my entire family convenes for the event. Main street is closed to traffic and the shops are open. They hand out cookies and cocoa or cider, everyone knows everyone else, and we hang around listening to carolers and enjoying the start of the season. Or, that's how it goes for everyone without young children. The parents end up standing for hours in the line from hell to see Santa.
Ha!!! No, it was totally jam packed with holiday festivities. But well worth it - the cop and I got a tremendous amount done in three short days so I'll call it a win. I got to enjoy two Thanksgivings, and then several days of stretch pants. As it turns out I should always plan days off for after major eating holidays because the several days of recovery means that nobody risks losing an eye when a button on my work uniform gets launched from post-feast stress fatigue. I'm looking out for the good of the department, here.
Here in la Casa, we LOVE Christmas. The cop has to force me to wait until the day after Thanksgiving to decorate, but the Christmas music starts in October. Can't help it, I love it. It's the happiest time of year. But with the Wild Boys getting older, it's been a definite juggling act trying to maintain the magic of the season and deal with their analytical, somewhat cynical baby cop minds. That's what happens when you're raised in law enforcement. There's not any room for ignorant bliss because your parents and all your uniformed "uncles" forget that kids hear everything and then you get a call from the school, or in some instances Christian pre-school, asking if you can curb your child's enthusiasm when it comes to describing things like where people hide their crank. Our kids lessons on anatomy have come from overhearing some pretty entertaining but 100% inappropriate conversations about the necessity of strip searches when booking at the jail.
Last year Gav asked me if Santa was real. Because the other fourth graders said he's not. And by God, I wasn't ready to give up the one bit of magic they have, but he's way too smart to believe in magic. I knew that if he found out he'd immediately tell Gabe, and dang it second grade is just too early. So I told him that Santa only brings presents and fills stockings for kids that believe. I knew this would buy silence because that kid loves him some presents.
When they asked about store Santas I employed the old "they are Santa's helpers" line.
And when they asked why they didn't have an Elf on the Shelf I explained that we don't encourage burglary, vandalism or stalking, so that miniature felon isn't welcome in this damn house.
Two out of three isn't bad.
This year we continued our Casa tradition of going to the small town Christmas tree lighting. The cop has to work it, and pretty much my entire family convenes for the event. Main street is closed to traffic and the shops are open. They hand out cookies and cocoa or cider, everyone knows everyone else, and we hang around listening to carolers and enjoying the start of the season. Or, that's how it goes for everyone without young children. The parents end up standing for hours in the line from hell to see Santa.
Still magical. Because I love the season. I don't even care. We stood in the line chatting with other families (only 45 minutes this year, largely because I made the boys weasel through the crowd and sprint ahead of the throng moving from the tree to the line - their athleticism proves useful in these events) and finally it was our turn to see Santa. But for some reason this year, Santa wasn't feeling as magical as I was. And while he was willing to cycle a million kids through for photos, he forgot to ask what they wanted for Christmas. Or, as it turns out, to smile in the photos.
You can't bad mouth Santa in front of kids, though. It's a sin in the holiday rule book. So I found myself making lame excuses to Gabe about Santa being super busy, but we can write a letter to him, etc. etc. Gabe latched on to that right away, which should have been the first clue that something was amiss. And later, when he gave me his letter to mail, I realized he saw this as an opportunity to lodge a formal complaint.
Didn't ask what he wanted, didn't smile for the picture, is clearly just in this for the money.
And if that's not a baby cop right there, I don't know what is.
Now I have to mail this to Santa, and pray we don't get blacklisted. Also, I should probably try to find a friendlier store Santa. Wish me luck.
Until next time, happy holiday season from La Casa!!!
Comments
Post a Comment