It happens. Every single year, it happens. Without fail
thanks to Rudolf.
I have to admit that, as an adult, I tend to be a bit of a Scrooge. I’m not 100% why
I’m horrible at buying people gifts bu I am. I tend to grump around behind my children’s backs, mumbling and grumbling. When they turn around I smile BIG and fill myself with fake Christmas cheer. “Yay for Christmas! Woo hoo!” “Damn it all to hell with shopping lines, noisy toys, batteries, and fucking wrapping paper.” I think I secretly hope my kids will stop believing in Santa Clause just so I don’t have to buy the extra presents from the fat man. Even though I know I still will. I wish they would just be happy with stockings and all the trinkets and gadgets that will fit into the two feet of hand knitted wonderment. How great would that be? Nothing but toothbrushes, dental floss, stickers, fake tattoos, scented pencils, electric fly swatters, and socks. A parent’s dream to have a Christmas that costs less than $100 per child. *sigh*
I do have to admit, however, that there is one part of Christmas I absolutely adore. Santa’s cookies. Whether you buy them at the store or slave in the kitchen all day, as a parent, you can’t wait for the kids to go to bed so you can dig in….and make a mess. Once the coast is clear, you go to the table and smile at the hand written note as you take your first bite of cookie and the crumbs fall to the table. Because you’re Santa, you’re allowed to let crumbs fall and leave them. You might even spill some milk. Maybe you’ll even leave part of the reindeer’s carrot half eaten. After all you’re pulling double duty, and playing the roll of Santa and the reindeer entitles you to making a mess.
My kids love to leave cookies and a note out for Santa. They start working up to it a month in advance, planning what kind of cookies to leave out, was last year’s choice better or worse, does Santa actually like cookies and milk?
This Santa would prefer a vodka tonic and bacon wrapped scallops, but it would be hard to sell the kids on that one.
Last night the cookie conversation came up due to Pheobe describing the gingerbread house she made at daycare. She stood there talking about the candy and the frosting when suddenly Theo cut in, “And Santa is going to eat it!” Cue crickets, followed by a resounding “NO!” Evidently there was no way in hell the fat man was going to eat her gingerbread house, the one she painstakingly worked on for two days.
“Santa ate mine last year,” snickered Theo.
“That’s right,” I said. “Santa ate the roof and all the candy around it.” You know, all the good stuff.
“So………” said the peanut gallery “does that go straight to Santa’s ass?”
Yes, yes it does. Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to my new boyfriend Steve. He’s fitting in quite nicely with all the sarcasm and tomfoolery. Happy Holidays!