No,no, this post will not be about anything naughty. Get your minds outta the gutter, folks, for goodness sake. No, it's simply about the Big Guy. The Jolly Elf. The Man in the Red Suit.
And the only reason viewer discretion is advised, is just in case some little eight year old is reading my blog. Which is highly unlikely. But far me it from me to dash their childhood dreams.
How much do I love this guy?
Quite a lot.
Every year some well meaning, but totally irritating child tells my children (who also can be well meaning and totally irritating) that there is no Santa.
They never believe the child.
Cora is ten. She still believes. I love that kid.
Incidently, I also love this print.
The only difficult thing about Santa is the gifts. According to Anna:
'Don't worry about the cost of what I'm asking for Mom, Santa has it covered!'
Amazingly, they've never asked for a pony or a jet.
But they've come dangerously close this year.
Anna wants an American Girl doll.
Somebody please kill me.
Do you even know what those dang things cost?
I could find a cheaper pony. Still have my feelers out for a less expensive jet.
Also hoping she will do something terribly naughty so I can just fill her stocking with cheap coal.
And here's the other kicker: in order to PROVE beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is a Santa, Cora has decided to let no one - and I do mean no one - know what she wants for Christmas. The letter will be written, she will walk it to the mailbox herself, and she will wait until the designated postal service worker drives up, and personally hand it to her, so that NO ONE can tamper with it.
Crappity crap crap.
Pardon my french.
I now have to follow the postal worker to retrieve the envelope and plead for it back, which is most likely a federal offense. Then I will be taken to court where hopefully a nice lawyer and his girlfriend and Natalie Wood will all be there for me, cheering me on, and where we can all prove together that there is a Santa Claus.
Will they be devastated to learn the truth? And will that inevitable day be this year? I wanna cry at the thought. I remember the year when the girls were about seven and six and we slept Christmas Eve at the High House. Andy Kohler helped us play the jolly elf and marched around the deck in his heavy boots, ringing sleigh bells. Oh my heart. The girls were so enchanted and DESPERATE to get to sleep. It was adorable. And stumbling out each Christmas morning, rubbing their eyes, heading over to the glow of the tree, ready to see what Santa brought down the chimney? Oh my. Nothing better.
Please, baby Jesus, let it last one more year before they grow up on me and elope with a gang of tatted up bikers.