Before Christmas gets too far past us, somewhere over the Christmas season, Isabella (she’s 7, beyond her years) has crossed the line of whether or not Santa is real. Going in, she was all: I need to send Santa a letter by Thursday or it won’t get there in time.
Now she’s like: You bought that at Target.
But, I tried to keep the illusion alive as long as possible.
Iz: Daddy, did you or Mommy order the X-Box from Amazon?
Me: Honey, Santa brought it.
Iz: No… Mommy said we could take it back. Back to the North Pole? I don’t think so.
Me: Look, Bubbles, Santa lets us take things back to stores if they don’t work or don’t fit.
Iz: No. You bought this on the computer. That’s why the guy came to the door the other day. That’s why we have same the same gift wrapping in in the closet.
Me: All I know, Sweetie, is that there was a fat guy putting gifts around the tree.
Isabella looks at me and gets a “Duh” look on her face. She flings her hands up to her shoulders. Her eyes say everything. “You.”
Sometimes I set my up for the degradations.
(Don’t tell your sister…)