It was a Friday afternoon. The kids were going crazy. And they weren’t being very nice to each other.
Me: THE BOY! You outweigh your sister by 25 pounds! You can’t push her around like that!
The Boy: She’s mean. She called me a butthead.
Me: She’s 2. She doesn’t even know the word “butthead”.
The Girl: (singing) Butt-head. Butt-head.
Me: I owe you an apology, son. But seriously, you need to stop being mean to each other.
The Boy: Why?
Me: (I’ve been waiting for the right time to drop this one. Last year I pulled it out way too soon. Like, September.) You need to behave, because Santa is watching you.
The Boy: Really?
The Boy: How?
Me: Oh, he has his ways. But he can see you, and he’s keeping track.
(The Boy sits quietly, doesn’t hurt anyone, doesn’t make any messes, doesn’t do anything, for, like, half an hour.)
The Boy: Mom?
The Boy: Can you tell Santa to never mind?
The Boy: Yeah, tell him I’m not interested.
Me: You don’t want any presents.
The Boy: I do. But it’s not worth it. I don’t need that guy in my personal space.