I’d brag more if I didn’t feel so darn guilty about it all.
Okay, the guilt is not that overwhelming, but it’s enough to make my confession list.
So, Santa made it to our home in the wee hours of Christmas morning. He came, he unloaded, his reindeer left carrot crumbs on the kitchen floor, and now he’s gone for another three-hundred-sixty-something days.
Now how am I going to keep my kindergartener in line?
For six solid weeks I relied on the big guy’s impending visit to encourage my young daughter to be on her best behavior.
“Santa’s watching,” I’d shout from the front seat of the car, as my daughter angrily tore into a bag of groceries in the back looking for the cookies I told her she couldn’t have until after dinner.
The ripping came to a screeching halt.
And at playgroup, when my daughter let out a blood-curdling scream because her friend got the bigger half of a random candy cane, out came those five magic words: “Santa would not be happy.”
Suddenly… silence.
Then, there was the time when my daughter insisted that she didn’t need to brush her teeth before bed… “Or EVER, Mommy!!”
Um… yeah… “Hello Santa?” I’d say into an uncharged phone. “You can skip our house this year.”
Let’s just say my daughter’s teeth have been as white as lilies since that day.
I used him, and used him, and used him.
In the morning when she didn’t want to get dressed for school: “Santa, I guess your sleigh is going to be lighter this year.”
In the afternoon when she didn’t want to pick up her toys: “Santa, you aren’t going to believe what’s going on here.”
At night when she refused to stay in bed, preferring instead to cartwheel down the hallway: “Hi Santa? It’s me again. Tell the elves they don’t have to make extra Zhu Zhu Pets after all. We won’t be needing them.”
After hearing that “conversation,” not only did my daughter scurry back into bed that night, but she remained there well into the next morning and even asked permission before getting out.
Can you say epiphany?
But alas, the threat of Santa can only take you so far. Once Christmas comes and the presents have been ripped open, it’s over.
I’m sad and relieved at the same time. Believe it or not, I actually felt guilty making all those “calls” to Santa. Still, any parent, who has used the Santa threat, knows there’s some value associated with cruel emotional manipulation when it comes to raising kids.
Now, where did I leave the Easter Bunny’s phone number?